2015 Summer Issue


Our Compost Bin by Smith

Our Compost Bin by Smith

He used to exhibit total disregard, utter unawareness and nil
worry for the emotions that poured like raw honey into
morning cereal in a blue ceramic bowl on wood slab table
sitting near the spoon in shafts of early light.
Now he is closed like a mortar locks in.
His mind porous as rock but theres no tellin
what lies in such miniscule holes.
I climb thru brambles to set against the cool white
shed, looks out on winter beets and cabbages.
This summer my new neighbor gave me a watermelon
he grew so chockfull of seeds, black ones,
as well as white.
There was not a centimeter of fruit unadulterated
by the buggers!
It took right near an hour to rid the pink tumid
flesh of them, so I cld finally pour what was
left of the fruit into my first bottle of gin
in many years.
Three mugs in, I texted him.
Said, ‘Boy, I think I cld fall right in love.
Got magic spells? A tincture? To make sure
I dont?’
He answered, ‘Careful girl,’ which I took
in my gin beams to be flirtatious. So
many sheets in, I did not see
the yellow lights or cold coffee
of my future
when Id be so consumed
as to forget
to drink while it was still hot.

~ Bree