Peach Farm No. 2

"Not this loaf," they said
but things change.

cobwebbed pomegranates and no one stops to speak.

When a relationship or other life situation (other life situations?!) takes too long to end I call it

Peach Farming.

I wrote a real poem about Peach Farming.
In the poem I described the store
Peach Farm, obviously.

So many years of fading away, the cans, the boots, the fruit.
The boots came last, and left soon after. Umbrellas too, and maybe suits?

But still, the fruit, and cookies, never beer

the cans, the bread, the greasy bags, the bins, at last, the bins alone.

They really Peach Farmed it.

I shared in this, I think.

I say how in the other poem.

The gates went down maybe a few months, maybe more than a few months ago

The people who work there were free to go home, and sigh, and lie out on the floor

So stony they had been, defiant, calm

like the Queen as portrayed by Helen Mirren

who is the opposite of me

because I am always screaming and tearing at my hair

resenting the expectation of calm

that strangers have of others.

The other poem mentions this; drags it out.

Those bags of apples, decomposing, it's ok, let it go, you tried so hard not to waste it.

Sometimes I get so angry that I throw perfectly good fruit away, in public, screaming,

tearing at my hair, saying “Take THAT Helen Mirren as The Queen, I tried but I can't!”

I can't, I can't, I can't.

I need some milk and eggs, I need greens to keep my mood up

I need to keep my cat alive, because I love her and because I fear judgment,

I need cereal because I'm lazy and beans because of my budget.

It was hard on me, the awning still there, the memorial

too sentimental for such stone faces, too honest in the afterglow.

So I moved away.

I Peach Farmed those years, I trod a mile and stopped.

And then the sign came down, out Peach-Farmed me at last, the other poem peach-farming 

it's way to find me here