Part of me likes to see fruit rot-
to keep it until it’s brown like dirt, clumped
like mud. It is the same part of me
that ends a relationship long after it’s over.
It’s easier to trash the thing I wanted-
green in the store, forgotten in the fridge-
when it’s patterned with worm holes,
oozing sour juice, no longer the ripe,
sweet apple I imagined.

Edit: This poem is featured in the September 2009 issue of Eudaimonia Poetry Review. To view, follow this link:


One Response to “Rot”

  1. ooga booga Says:

    i kno all about this one

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