Rot

Happy peaches rot in the bin.
While tossing the fuzzy flesh,
Fresno farmers come to mind;
remind me of a former life.

Life was simple then.
We picked fruit and ate it,
or canned the crop for winter.
We didn’t own a computer.

My skin was tanned, the sun
measured time. Four o’clock
meant ‘bring in the buckets’,
not ‘another hour of atrophy’.

Looking for snacks, he asks,
“Why don’t you buy more fruit?”
My response - without regard,
“Why don’t you empty the trash?”

Written June 14, 2002

.