Sunday, March 17, 2013

Poetic Bloomings green (Don't write about broccoli.)


I’ve been here these twenty years.
What started as a row of seedlings
has grown into and entangled jungle.
I gaze wistfully out the window
overlooking the parking lot, watching
children come and go as years pass.
They slip me cafeteria lunches
and I survive. And it’s all because
I wrote a poem about broccoli.

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