Bumper Crop

Pome and human
spawned from seed.
Safe in germination
an embryonic refuge.
Phototropism in its essence
arching toward the light.
Both fated to work
their existence, commodified.
One to feed, off sunbeams and sugar.
One to work, on bellies of offal rice, mouths of cotton tufts.
Both grown
For Profit.
Both destined to suspend
from woody limbs.
A timely harvest,
pageantry of
prized produce.
Humans are always in season.
12

You might also like…

Poetry
Poetry

80-Year-Old Hero

Elanor Lin

It was a muggy morning at Cozy Cottage Nursing Home, and the arthritis was bothering me pretty bad. Hurt to move. Hurt to type. Still does, matter of fact. That's why, when they asked me for an ...  [+]

Poetry