a woman's grapes,
unbeknownst to her,
kerplunk
through the wire squares
of her grocery basket,
and the wobbly wheels
of the cart a man pushes
up behind her
crush them,
as though deliberate.
This wouldn't happen
with plums and peaches
too big to slip between
the cage-like,
crisscross bindings.
Denise Banker
No comments:
Post a Comment