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BROCCOLI AFTER MAKING LOVE by Richard Freed Outside I cook the hamburgers and you broccoli in the kitchen. Seven days a week it's all you eat. I make me some peas. At dinner two of them roll from my fork like mallets on a tympani and suddenly autumn begins to run through our lives. Moments ago in the other room we lay on the bed like two young kids on a raft watching our clothing heaped and scattered about the floor. First one old would be like these garments, you said: Skins we would look on and wonder how they were ours. © Richard Freed « Home | Contributor Notes » |
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