Posted on June 30, 2010


I don’t usually write poetry. The imagery and rhythm, with every word right to the point and in the exact perfect place, is, for the moment, beyond me.

But today I wrote a poem, and since this blog is shiny and new, a place to stretch my writing, I’ll post it here.

Don’t get used to it.


I bought a box
Of figs
Precious figs
Five dollar figs
I put them in the fridge,
Because, you know,
Five dollar figs
Can’t be eaten just any time.

I ate a few
With melted cheese
Cutting them into miserly
Portions, and hoping
That the others wouldn’t
Eat so very many
Because I want
My precious figs
All to myself

I meant to eat the figs
The precious figs
The five dollar figs
At just the right moment
But here,
A week later
I have three figs left

This should be a celebration
And it is
I’ll eat the last
All on my own

But I left them so long
That one fig
One precious fig
Is fuzzy with mold.

On the outside.

Tagged: , ,
Posted in: Uncategorized