PicklesA Poem by SkinlessFrankThere’s a road sign that one sometimes passes on the country roads of Quebec a child lying still on his side next to the road And the words read “This child could be your own” though of course they are written in French But you’d rather add brine to an overabundance of peas peppers and zucchinis stuff them safely away in a dark spot in the kitchen cabinet in a mason jar and wait for the lactic acid tang to bring out the pickle These pickles are living things you know and you can almost taste them with their garlic and dill But instead you think about snake urine and how it might smell The child will be fine you say He’ll grow up to be an insurance broker Get a divorce at 43 and when he’s eighty-four his toes will be like gherkins his nails infected with fungus and he’ll remember that day when he played dead.
© 2012 SkinlessFrankReviews
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Added on July 21, 2012Last Updated on July 22, 2012 Author
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