|
Smell this.
I found it
In the fridge
Behind those old plums
You said you were saving
for breakfast
Last week, Monday.
I could’ve gotten prunes
you know
We’re not made of money
And plums aren’t in season.
Anyway, smell this.
I think it’s turned.
As submitted to the happyrobot / end of poetry month / william carlos williams poetry challenge, 2008.
|
 |