May, May, go away
I've got nothing more to say
it's killing me to publish a poem a day
these things should not be rushed this way
I was going to write about things that scare me
like touching rotten fruit
or even looking at it
someone needs to clean out the fruitbowl
there's an orange in there who's guts I spilled when I innocently grabbed it for a snack
I trembled to feel my thumb pierce its green soft bottom and mushy flesh
I threw it back in the bowl
I never want to see it again
a rotten orange on the ground under the tree feeds the animals and the tree
this one is far from home and wasted, without a chance to use its life force for good
poor thing
a shame to die unlived
Anyway, I was going to write about the things that scare me.
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