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
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