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The Perfidy Of That Blue Purveyor
Of Gastronomic Pleasure

That patch of sunlight down in the meadow
beckoned relentlessly
whenever the cabin door opened.
Rows of sticks once stark in their nudity,
are regal in their support of green leaves
and curling tendrils, that spiral around
lush clusters of succulent blue Concord globs.
The sweetest summer nectar, lies hidden
between the lush royal blue skin
and the tart congealed marble it covers.
Squeezing it “just so”, you consume that glob,
like swallowing a raw egg in a glass of beer – –
plop and it’s gone. The blue skin is then tossed
to the gnats that hover the vines.
But, oh, that divine layer of juice
that lies just under the skin, beckoning – –
just one more.
Mama sent me down there with a basket,
to pick those destined for a jelly jar.
I don’t know how many I consumed,
but even before my gluttony ended,
everyone of those tart congealed globs made
their presence known, and came sliding out
as I retched, forming a neat pile
of what appeared to be fish eyes staring up at me.
Never again will I see one, without seeing the other.
Even now, I check my glass of wine, to see
if there might possibly be an eye
staring up at me from the bottom of the glass

3/11/01 Phyllis DeWitt -VanVleck

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AWESOME LITTLE PEST

 

 

Shaggy headed little flower

Yellow – like the sun,

You’re amazingly prolific,

For hundreds come from one.

 

Some say there’s beauty in your face

Like golden light of dawn.

But as you age, your hair turns white

And scatters on my lawn.

 

Then you stretch your scrawny neck

‘Til your ugly bald head

Is all that’s seen upon my lawn,

And I wish that you were dead.

 

Mama cooked your greens for dinner,

And Grandpa did his best

To turn you into homemade wine,

You awesome little pest.

 

I sprayed you with a chemical

And zapped your little crown.

I dug you out with trowel and hoe

And tried to mow you down.

 

My lawn was pristine once again,

No dandelions in sight.

But not for long, I should have known,

You’d multiply all night.

 

I plan and plot your last goodbye,

But your intent is clear —

That if I win the war this time,

You’ll just return next year.

 

2/17/93 – Phyllis DeWitt-VanVleck   

 

3’rd … Indiana NPD 1994

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