Overripe

by

Crystal Dawn Allen

This pear is overripe
I can feel the bloody juices being squeezed from it

I'm not sure whose fist is clutching
its tender throat

It could be
mine; it could be
his; it could be
the ghost of the man in the white coat
who wore the latex gloves

We were all so afraid
of getting our hands
dirty

NEXT?
Why don't you look at friends
by: Emily Bard
from: Winchester, VA, US

To visit all of Crystal Dawn Allen's poems, click HERE

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