I Love Your Ripe Papayas... - Poem by RIC BASTASA
the papaya trees are blooming
time runs so fast and there they are
with you posing for their fruits like
breasts of women from the roots to the
and so are your perennial eggplants with
all the purple sizes, loaded into crates
headed for the market,
your efforts have been converted into
profits, or maybe for the service of the
except you old lady, never married, and never
had a kid, or if you had it with a man, it was
plain rumors, and you always deny what pleasures
are there waiting and available for your picking
how you wasted so much time on the flowers and
the vegetables and yet how you left yourself into
the sorrow of singleness
blessed art thou,
i am puzzled, but i am taking this to a stop.
none of my business.
i love your ripe papayas.
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