I’ve recently moved and have been weeding through boxes (and boxes) of papers to simply and consolidate my life. Among some of my findings, a locavore-inspired poem from July 2009:
How about food
like our ancestors had
lush, plump tomatoes
red as the turtle’s eye
a special treasure
to celebrate summer.
Put back your pale, bouncing love apples!
Let the Chileans have their fruit this January.
Once I plucked a cherry from a tree growing on the corner of 65th and 20th.
Sweeter than ever I’d had
My complimentary gift from Mother Earth.
Send back your plastic vessels
of shiny, tasteless produce.
I tire of kiwi
that has traveled more than I.
Send me to the garden
like a pirate or a spy!
Let me hunt my own booty
and wash my own prize!
Save your waxes for your candles
My cuke is handsome as is.
My oranges grow across the street.
It doesn’t get sweeter than this.
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