The Wasteful One

Hydra Heads

The Wasteful One

The fruit is rotting in the bowl.

The apple smells too sweet,

soft spot dented brown and mealy.

Fruit flies grow too big over here.

 

That jaunty yellow summer squash I bought because it looked like a UFO

remains untouched,

now turning in on itself,

now mottled sick brown and white.

 

I keep buying cut flowers

forgetting they’re already dead.  

Ghosts in a glass,

memories of fields fading.

 

Everything I touch
today

turns to brown

and rots away.

 

Impulsive,

seduced by

everything,

I want it all.

 

I hunt and gather,

hoard

and

forget.

 

Barely noticing

the

sacrifice

drain away.