Published Humanitas, Volume VI, No. 2, 1993

No fruit was good enough for you.
Oranges, grapes huddled in that place,
All show, untasted.
Now you sit among studied abundance,
Convinced of your hunger.

O to know the horn of plenty,
And blossoms borne.

But only pride would have you,
That unyielding, gritty pear.
Tortured by the very fruit that
You longed for was there.

These leeks are stalking me.
See them move unloved limbs
through vacant refrigerator light.
In fact, I think they’re witches.

They hexed the milk.
All night long I heard them muttering Beelzebub
to the radishes.
They’ve been fooling with the eggs.

Far cries from the lily,
O shameless purity. Pollyannas
fold their dresses in the dark.

Listen, weird sisters. Hold
your tongues.
Tomorrow, I am making my father
cockaleekie soup.
Just the way he likes it.