I wonder
if deep down
the pirate is self-conscious
of his wooden leg
and smelly beard.
And when he calls me
a land lubber
before he pushes me down
the wooden cliff
to be kissed
by hungry sharks
he really just wanted
me to accept him
for who he was.
The year of the poem is finished, now it is the year for the protocol! Read about the misadventures of a plant scientist trying to make sense of photorespiration one mutant at a time.
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