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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