Three plump tomatoes,
products of my late summer garden,
sit on the kitchen cutting board

in a triangular array,
each a bit smaller than the other
but every one just as red,

awaiting their fate.
Today, they are almost decorative;
tomorrow, theyll be someones salad,

split open by serrated knives,
sliced, cubed, even crushed,
their thin seeds and juices

staining the wood.
They look so peaceful now, so red
in the terrible white kitchen.


[First published in Maelstrom, Fall 2001]

09/30/2001

Posted on 09/30/2001
Copyright © 2026 Bruce W Niedt