New Year’s Day and
I am treed picking avocados
thoughts expanding beyond
caring foliage concealing
the self-same fruit I seek
is this really you, a voice asks,
more from morbid curiosity than
intent I guess, but I am lost
for an answer; can I get back
to you, I say
only if you see better reason
for hanging there precariously
scaring the sh*t out of your
absent family it says, and the
least of all, me...
© 1 January 2010, I. D. Carswell
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem