On the side of Hwy 441,
Farmington, GA
I stop by a stand selling produce.
When I ask about business,
the small, smiling woman says,
"How can we compete with supermarkets
selling our imperfect peaches?"
(she means the natural ones
that come off of the trees
like they're supposed to)
"People don't like the way they look."
Her boy plays on a mat
just inside the stand
fans blowing on him
a toy airplane strapped to his arm,
grinning when I tell him his toy
is "cool."
nice little watermelons
local honey
peach butter
peach preserves
and struggling farmers
She says, when ringing up my
six-dollar massive box of
"imperfect" peaches,
"Farmers shouldn't be taxed so much."
I agree with her.
At home, I easily peel,
pull apart, and literally
slurp an imperfect peach,
the juice running from ear to ear.
3 comments:
Holly, you know I would love this one. And now...seriously...I'm not just saying this to be nice...it is my FAVORITE poem of yours! I know I've said that about other poems of yours, but damn...this is good. Of course, I guess I'm looking at it from a selfish point of view, because I can relate to the farmers and the "little" guys.
But this poem SAYS so much, and it says it so beautifully. The imperfect peaches...ah. So true. And ending with the juice from that "imperfect" peach running down your face is a powerful kick. Your lines sing. So beautiful. And many good details and sense of place. I hope you send it out, because it should be published!
This is an excellent comment on local food and the need to stand up against the power of supermarkets. It also made me want to eat a peach .....
Thank you Julie, as always, and you know, this was just an everyday event...something that happened to me the other day...sometimes those make the best poems, I guess.
Crafty...Interesting you commented because I actually thought of you when perusing your site after I had posted this poem! Glad you like it.
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