Thursday, October 6, 2011

the deli

The over ripe little tomatos
swell like juicy placentas before me.
They bruise out the substance of their life,
Like greedy fat little pregnant whores
Grinning sly smiles of devious satisfaction and entrapment.

The carrots demand the attention of my eyes
in a way that is neither a whisper or a shout.
Their hard stalk straight bodies an awkward eighth grader
With acne scares and braces.
Shuffling from foot to foot on stork tall
knobby kneed legs. Corkscrew ragmop
(carrot top, ... carrot top,....)

Bread after mundane bread; a sea of crackling mulato
Opens its yeasty center to me.
Drops in clap bored thump
( flip flop, flip flop,)
The tear of its keening wrappings the low humdrum zip
Of a durex in a seedy underbelly hole
To the tune of its 12:59 am my little preteen
Trailer trash princess,
Does your daddy know where you are?

The sauces sigh and drip
Like apathy on an old worn mothers face.
Snot colored mucus rain, against a window pane,
Falls relentlessly.
Endlessly the pool of anothers eyes
Boil over into the bubbling cupped hands
Of a thousand secret volcanos
Just under the surface of things.
You would not look at me;
And I could not look away.

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