I
A mason jar sits idly
Unused, in the pantry
Awaiting purpose
Surrounded by properly labeled cans
Boxes, ingredients and shiny commercials
Food dressed like some poorly
Arranged mall family photo
Carrot, grain, animal, spoon, elf
All enlarged, all showing texture
Plastic milk and white coats
II
A tomato has many waxy friends
From soil stained oily and thin
A glow and a buzz, not really a beam
Growing towards the unreachable, wind and dust
Stolen from the vine, the last connection
Diced fleshed bleeds small seeds
Dripping like much saliva from dogs
Cold cogs feeding America loudly
An ingredient worthy of a future meal
In five years
III
A mason jar eyes its neighbors
Glass and jealous, gold lid awry
Still empty, without purpose
Shoved behind dry beans
Plastic bag fading
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Andrew, we keep missing each other at work, so I haven't been able to comment on your poem in person! I'll try this way.
ReplyDeleteOn first read, I glossed over your descriptions, but on second and third, I quite appreciated your descriptions - simple, true. 'Diced flesh bleeds small seeds dripping like much saliva from dogs' stands out for its out-of-context imagery. Still, I relate; there's a similar bag of unused dry beans in my cupboard.
Is this poem written in a particular style? Is there a hidden agenda attached to the blood/saliva/feeding America language? (Just sayin'.)
Most importantly: what will happen to the unused mason jar?!