I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox
and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast
Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold
To me this poem is the poetic equivalent of J.D. Salinger's (1953) book-length Nine Stories, which blew my mind when I read it 35 years ago.
Until I read each of these, I did not know you were allowed to write like that.
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