#cucumber
Winter is a cucumber, all ice and evergreen,
A frogskin in formaldehyde,
Cross-sectioned for slides.
What veiny depth from circle flakes is seen.
May 15, 2019
May 15, 2019 at 5:37 PM UTC
no taste.
still, though,
cool and crisp enough
to bring about a smile.
and what a relief,
what a change of pace
to write a poem
about something that don’t deserve no poetry,
for once.
i feel a little bubble of anger,
of bitterness
at the knowledge that the words come easier when my mouth is on fire.
what the hell.
for a few seconds the cool seeds slide down easy.
no taste.
(a.m.)
Nov 25, 2016
Nov 25, 2016 at 10:01 PM UTC
It was some yesterday,
sitting in my high chair
eating salted cucumber slices
a wooden one
three adjustments only
locked in
a bumble bee landed on my arm
the pain raced through my blood and brain
little pin ******
I could not get out
my memory stops there
sitting in my chair.
Sep 25, 2016
Sep 25, 2016 at 1:31 PM UTC
A child, not of speaking age, sat
across me at tea time. The mother
fed her cake and cucumber
sandwiches, and the young girl
screeched with
a sour face
staring at me as if I held the solution
to erasing the taste of sweets and crunchy water.
I feigned a smile.
It occurred to me that even as old as she was,
she had opinions on things she would forget. No one
remembers not liking cucumbers that young.
Jul 25, 2016
Jul 25, 2016 at 11:44 PM UTC
I feel like a pickle in jar.
Drowning in salty tears.
Waiting on a shelf for
someone to want me.
To drag me out of this
lonely jar and take a bite
of my tear soaked body.
I am waiting for someone
to tell the difference between
a cucumber and a pickle.
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 4:42 PM UTC