how the sound gets softer

it can teach you i say
about envy to dottie
while we slice the cores of tomatoes out
before quartering them
with sharp knives in karma kitchen
_______
bring me back a trashy treat i ask/say
just like i used to ask my parents
to bring me back a surprise
when they would go out into the world
_______

the death smell wafting
from where i work plucking fuzzy edamame pods
from their stalks in north garden
and finally i come across the bloody/gutty little body
and diggy paws/hands
of a mole-ish gopher-ish creature
which i cover with a clump of straw
_______

the plink-plunk of pods landing
in plastic bucket and how the sound
gets softer as the bucket gets fuller

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Filed under daily practice, poems, poetry, writing

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