Day 115 – The Baker

It used to be I could
pluck an apple from my garden:
any one
from any tree
would do

And it used to be I could
bake you a pie from that apple:
right quick
no questions
easy doing

But I’m finding lately
I don’t have as many apples
I can’t bake a pie as quick
as I once did

And I often find myself
ignoring the few apples I’ve got
wondering why they ever meant
so much

I know no one is waiting
on my pies anymore;
they’re starting to hurt
just to give

but what is a baker
who’s not baking
what is a voice
who doesn’t speak
what am I anymore

if not this?

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Find It In Sunnyside

If you think you can,
go find it in Sunnyside.

If you think your apples
won’t look like potatoes anymore,
think the scenery
will keep you evergreen,

if you think that’s any kind of home
where you’ll be safe,
you probably will.

If you can find it in Sunnyside,
please do.

And when you find it,
drop me a letter,
tell me all about those skies-

I’ll forward all my mail to Sunnyside,
where I won’t ever find it.

Day 254 – Candy Apples

Bushel in the bathroom
standing on your math books
spraying on an armor plate
before you storm the classroom

Lean a little nearer
lipstick on the mirror
get a boost up on the sink
so you can see much clearer

Bulletproof it, girls
what they want but they can’t taste
hardened flesh in glossy red
young nature gone to waste

Steel yourselves, girls
in your glitter candy coats
when they try to take a bite of you
you’ll have them by their throats

Bushel in the bathroom
standing on your math books
gussy up your thin skins and
tighten up your right hooks-

You would take a tooth out, girls
before anybody took a bite of you