a short, bad poem
I look back through my notebook
and find no poetry.
apples, pears
peaches, penumbras, oranges
mangoes
pomegranates
fruits of the grove stand at
the local grocer.
I find bananas in several local cafes.
in dream I am at this
fruit supermarket;
counting the aisles and cashiers,
wearing pajamas
and blue memory foam slippers.
unselfconscious of naked shoppers
who fail to wear fig leaves
hiding their shame
the platitudes of willful resemblance 