Friday, March 29, 2013

Tomatoes!


Tomatoes!
For her tomatoes meant few things.
Pizza!
The bright red of ketchup
Zigzagging on French Fries
The fine slices between buttered bread
Chopped cubes with cheese in a still hot Submarine

For him tomatoes meant other things.
Peppered for a salad, onions too
Preserved for future use, the jam bottles lined neatly
Tossed in with some salt, to the bubbling curry

For another her tomatoes were nothing
Only a dead memory
The small plots, plants so small
Bearing fruits of greens, yellows and reds.
The juice had splattered with her blood
A painting on a wall
Fruits that once found her some coins
Now paying not even for her life

No comments:

Post a Comment