From My Head, Tomatoes
I stared for awhile
At this red tomato
Which knew nothing
And had nowhere to go.
I watched it
Shrivel and mold
As every day
It seemed to grow increasingly old.
It was meant to shrivel
To die and be eaten
But never was it meant
To sink into the ground and be beaten.
It did not matter
What it had in store
As all it did
Was sink and grow no more.