by Daniel Peterson

Pore over your dry-roasted life.
Taste it simple, unsalted and bland,
and predictably packed so tightly
to fit in the palm of her hand.

Put on hold your flavor-filled days.
Taste them, trying, unscripted and true,
and undoubtedly spent so fully
to keep her out of your view.

Return from your airborne transition.
Recall it bitter, passing and cruel -
the aftertaste from peanuts
that never leave you full.


Posted on 04/24/2003
Copyright © 2023 Daniel Peterson

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Traci Mabats on 04/24/03 at 02:19 PM

this is an interesting comparision, life to a can of peanuts. I liked it.

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