pumpkiniferous
to name the age just now
and here is the weather
of never before
so many still pretending
but it’s pumpkin time
because I took your picture
having come through the dry
with bucket, with hose
later dodged rot too
I think of pumpkin my possum lure
they scratch raw to spoil
and loft it, coy, from day
that pink nose innocence they do
pumpkins hide under their own
umbrellas
tangle soil with sky
put harvest out of creature harm’s
way
and where to catch the sun
so toughen?
on the ping pong table!
how thick is a pumpkin’s skin?
all kin, the pedant’s instance –
squash
we say pumpkin here
I cook
say soup
my mongrel pumpkin is become
with onion, spud, and sweet
by paprika or stock
with milk of coconut
and carraway’s my secret
there! and now I’ve told
no scone (cause Flo)
but curry could
(I’ve been advised and so should try)
I bring a cleaver to the task
so part the flesh from skin
as with a lamb to Mecca
or Abraham’s instructions
take one called ‘Patch’
(I name them as I name the clouds)
these all my children here
No comments:
Post a Comment