Sunday, April 10, 2011

Month of Poetry, Day 10

Once, I was handed a
poem, whole

Like an apple picked
from the tree

I needed only to lift
my shirttail, and

Polish a word here
and there.

But today I work
the ground

Under the

Turning over shovelfuls
of applesauce,

In search of fruit that
is not rotten.


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