--Again, no suitable beginning.
The power flickers: uninterested, uninteresting.
Our town's one train makes a too-long noise.
Is this enough?
On the radio, the sculptor said what I was thinking:
no to the pedestal, no to the frame
which I wrote down at the red light.
Then into the grocery store
where a woman sighed over tomatoes:
for this price they should be perfect.
I am in complete agreement,
which means I am often dissatisfied.
Produce is the least of it.
Yet sometimes in the crisper something I've forgotten
no longer looks like I remember: a riot
where only green once was,
or little beads of moisture congregating:
eager, trembling worlds on every stalk and tendril.
- Mary Ann Samyn, Purr