Grocery Poem Xi
There are grill marks on the frozen chicken
though they’ve never known the grill.
The man in line behind me laughs
and it’s warm like orange oven coils.
I miss
Sylvia Plath
and hate the grill marks on the frozen chicken.
Copyright © C.W. Bryan | Year Posted 2023
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment