The Pumpkin Girl Poem by Duane Robert Pierson

Working the farmers’ market.
Soap her earthy cosmetic,
clean country air for perfume,
pheromones fueling ardor’s fire.
Hands that pull vegetables
from the ground scrubbed
with the virtue of hard work.

Office women and shop girls
groomed to perfection,
weighted with consciousness,
pass the pumpkin girl,
meteors in empty space.
We take the hair tied back,
the sun blushed cheeks,
innocent sparkling farm girl eyes.
Recycled baggy clothes
hiding a centerfold’s body,
labor sculpted lean and hard.
Her smile awakens
the granite ancient seated
atop the nearby monument.

She has secrets to share
with those who might care -
the comfort of simplicity,
the smell of clean fertile earth,
the delight of seeds sprouting into life.
No need to improve on nature,
plain is as beautiful as need be.
Her rooster crows before sunrise
to declare a new better day.

Amidst bouquets of autumn flowers,
piles of fruits and vegetables,
the old men’s jazz band plays
“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine -
please don’t take my sunshine away.”
Children dance with feet possessed,
like water drops on a hot griddle.
The pumpkin girl sparkles
in the crisp sun kissed air.