September, Late Afternoon
Oh, how I hate you
cucumbers
hanging as you do
right in front of me
Now, every step
is another one closer
to murder
If only
you weren’t attached
to those stringy,
green umbilical cords
Maybe then
I’d be able
to head back
into the house,
sit down at the table,
slice straight through
without hesitation,
and eat you
in peace
for once.
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