Growing Up
Jay Morritt, Poetry, Vol 2 Issue 1
Posted: January 30th, 2009 Track comments on this item via RSS
Growing up
They just aren’t the sort of questions
you ask someone:
“Do you not like me?”
“Why do you roll your eyes
when you see me?”
No.
They are the kind
you pack up
quietly in your sack
that you take home
and bury in the backyard
behind the shed.
How much heat you packin’?
When I go to the grocery
wanting an avocado for dinner
and find that none are ripe
I buy one anyway
slip it in my coat pocket,
walk home with my hand
cupped around it.
Chutney blues
I have onions
I have spice
apples
raisins
peppers
still
not by wishes
nor device
have I chutney.


