You take the lettuce and I’ll take the tomato (and other things I’ll never say in the throes of passion)

Gripping the pen/the ball/the rock
is all the same- with intent to strike.

She wondered if anyone said “ho!” without
malice anymore and if so,
was it with a jaunty affect or a sneer?
Is it possible to have a jaunty sneer?
I should think it would involve a top hat.
Maybe some spats.

Carving out an ode to industrialism
is tough when the only tool one has is ice.

She imagined her prince would find her
without fanfare, maybe alone in the woods.
Maybe he’d be a villain or an angel-
which she thought, is perfect either way;
it doesn’t signify, since he may have a limp
and possibly be an albino.

A head of steam is only as strong as
the will to be led by such caprice.

She lingered over heads of lettuce as they
were misted in their neat pyramids, a
voyeur to the leafy pile. She could sense
the tomatoes watching from behind her,
nestled in crates, waiting for something
exciting, like war or a salad.

The heart beats the same (frantically)
whether the action is running or worry.



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