Friday, July 29, 2011
“Look at the turnips,” you said.
We are miles away from the farm
that sells turnips by the bushel
and your eyebrows are growing
tired from squinting at the road.
“Look at the way you tremble
when I hold you up to the light
of the television and compare
you to a basket of folding chairs.”
This poem has been published in Food Corp and appears here courtesy of the poet.