Angry

She said she was angry

As the days began to run

One into another like

Gravy on mashed potatoes,

Stirred by a picky eater

Trying to hide the peas

And carrots, never fond

Of meatloaf, looking at

The sliced red tomatoes

On leaf green lettuce

Almost overcome by

By the humdrum, saved

By the dream of avocados,

Strawberries and bananas

With whipped cream on

Her Island in the sun,

That someone who had

Unfolded a new way

To foreplay and love.

Stephen Nesbitt ©