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 
say something