Over the phone, he said,
I ate one of the avocados
you left on my table last night.
Leave one for me, I answered,
one was for you,
and the other for me.
Dear heart,
he said,
would I eat your avocado?
I don’t know.

They were so ripe, so perfect, so carefully chosen,
the flesh inside so pale and soft, such a creamy green.
And after all,
you call yourself a poet,
and William Carlos Williams ate
every last one
of the plums.


2 thoughts on “Avocados

  1. Yes I liked this very much but I don’t believe it is poetry. Perhaps there should be a whole new taxonomy with the kingdoms, poetry, prose, nice to read stuff with a new line for every line.

  2. Poor fretherne. I’ll send you a link to the Hostiles thread in ModPo, in case you haven’t discovered it yet. I admit this poem is not terribly sophisticated; most lines are end-stopped (especially in the whole first stanza); but nonetheless the line breaks are deliberate. There’s more technique than just a paragraph written in short lines. A little, anyway. I think my revision (next post) is less prosaic.

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