Alice G.

Athazagoraphobia

There it lay splattered
Against the white fence picket
Bruised from the impact,
Blackened and soft from age

The skin split one inch
Long from pressure
Of hard contact with the painted wood.
A pit just barely visible.

The emergence of lava from
Beneath two convergent plates
Leaks its sweet orange
Fluid of life

Soon the ants will come.

Discarded
Sad and forgotten
Lies waiting in the dawn,
A peach without a purpose.




[TABLE OF CONTENTS, LHS CLASS OF 2010 EDITION]


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