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Peruvian Pan Flutes

The trunk of this avocado tree is pink
when dipped in the light of Los Angeles, red
when chillin’ in modernity.
Underneath the apartment complex
there are layers of being: the sea, her empty shells,
plastic Easter grass, concrete, one canvas tennis shoe,
the spit of snails. A man buys a bouquet 
of daffodils for his wife hoping she’ll have sex
with him. It might work. You can hear her unwrap 
the cellophane, open the packet of powdery food, put the flowers

in the vase, while the middle-school-girl next door puts together
a PowerPoint on Anasazi Indians. She just wants a B. 
Someone in this dump’s always playing the drums. 
Pueblos. We spend our entire lives cleaning up.

____
Sandra Simonds is the author of Mother Was a Tragic Girl (Cleveland State University Poetry Center, 2012) and Warsaw Bikini (Bloof Books, 2009). She is Assistant Professor of English at Thomas University in Thomasville, Georgia. Visit her at sandrasimonds.wordpress.com.

 

One Comment »

  • pecka sniffa says:

    This is very good. It’s really funny, I love that beginning, and the rest is also lovely and more serious. The thought “something always holds us back” comes to my mind when I finish it.

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