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The Harvest Feels Dismay

11.07.17 Posted in today's words by

Raymond Maguire lives and writes in Virginia. This is his first published poem at vox poetica

The Harvest Feels Dismay
By Raymond Maguire

Earnest labor in the field
With its straight rows of fresh edibles
Guaranteed to give an ample yield
Just takes some digging, clipping, snipping

Potatoes wait for picking
Gentle probing hands find the prizes
Red, blue, gold spheres unearthed
Minimal energy, loaded into bags with piety

Now, get the kale
Curly Scotch, Red Ribbed Russian, and black varieties
All produce actively, delicious wavy and straight leaves

Snipped last of spinach
Pulled a few dark red beets
Hundreds more to come forth

Lemon drop peppers
Getting longer, fatter and hotter
Pests certainly leave them alone

Wait, flashy red, blue Harlequin bug
Pokes skin with proboscis
Mouth parts aflame

Staggers, writhes falls
Into grass to be eaten
Relatives come along, pause, evaluate

Spot the green scorching hot Cherry Bombs
They poke holes too, bad decision
Can’t stand all those Scoville units

Let the Swiss chard rest
Clear those damn weeds
Give it a chance to up its yield

First hauled spuds to the car
Placed bags in shade
By passenger side door

Loaded kale, spinach, beets
In the ample cool trunk
Put work shoes, tools, water in too

Got in car, belted up, started
Potatoes, Pontiacs, the red and blue flesh
Two lonely Yukon Golds, all left behind

They made no moans or groans
In their forget me not bags
Such an ample swag, forgotten

Drove home so proud of harvest
Dear, where are those famous potatoes?
In the bags in the car, I’ll bring them right in

Could not find them, but must be here
Please look Sweets, see if you can spot them
You have better never fail eyes

No success, must have left them
How could I do that, so stupid
Dear, it is part of your track record, admit it

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