Rust-brown bars
stuck into the earth
like thick bristling hairs
on a man who hasn't shaved for a few
draping electricity
to home
school
and traffic light.
It's easy to forget
that they really don't belong.
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.
1 comment:
I really appreciate descriptive poems like this that really don't spell out what the thing is, but paint an image so colorfully with detailed brush strokes that it comes across practically like a photograph! Bravo!
Post a Comment