The creek's done riz, and it will be Saturday before I can finish my little tirade and exhortation. In the meantime, one from Charles Martin's Starting from Sleep (info and other poems here and here):
STILL LIFE WITH PEARS
Hers:
She turns from it and it begins to dry,
An oilslick tightening into the fable
Of a slowing ripening mutuality:
Two pears at rest on the edge of a table.
His:
He wonders whether it could be the same
As it had been—or was that too a fiction?
He wonders whether this one has a name.
The third pear is already out of the picture.
Another's:
"He brought it from—I don't remember who.
For months he tried to find a buyer:
I told him either it goes or I do."
Mine:
"Yes, in a dumpster! Poor bedraggled pup!
Would you mind holding it a little higher?
Don't you just love it? Is it right side up?"
8:00:36 PM 
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