I should drown
you in my beer
with my other miseries,
you fat leaf of grief,
you gut of slime.
But you slick your way in,
the wet skulk of you,
when I pick beans,
when I pick tomatoes.
You are the one who finds
the biggest strawberry
and the thickest squash
and takes your chunk.
Oh I know the tyrant
who tore out the tongues
that became you.
Was he not my father?
I want to crush you
beneath my heel.
But here you are again
this morning,
the silvery peel
meandering across
the rough porch plank.
Harrod’s 11th book “Brief Term,” a collection of poems about teachers and teaching was published by Black Buzzard Press, 2011, and her “Cosmongony” won the 2010 Hazel Lipa Chapbook (Iowa State). She teaches creative writing at The College of New Jersey. www.loismarieharrod.com
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