East End

2 Comments

East End

East End

Chk. Chk, chk, chk: big sprinkler.
Whoosh… whoosh… whoosh: windmill blades.
Grrrrr… grrrrrr. Grrrrrrr: dusty tractor.
Farm stand painting of corn ears on plywood: “Local Corn.”

Fresh Picked Long Island:

Peaches
Apples
Lettuce
Beets
Cucumbers
Tomatoes
Cauliflower
Broccoli
Onions
Blueberries

Fresh Baked:

Pies
Zucchini bread
Carrot muffins
Wheat bread

Nice Scenery:

Pumpkins ripening on the vine
Corn fields
Sod farms
Vineyards
Wine tasting
Farmhouses and barns

What was I thinking about?
Who said what to whom?
Did you say something about money?
Ten years ago I did what?
I really forget. Excuse me for not remembering.

“Yes, the eggplant was picked this morning, right
over there. My husband picks all these vegetables fresh
each morning. Are you going to grill it or make parmesan?”

“Excuse me?”

“Grill it or Parmesan?”

“Oh, oh, Parmesan, of course.”

 

North Fork, Long Island
Wine Country
Sound Avenue
September 8. 2007
copyright poetography  2007

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Katylove commented on East End

08-11-2009

This totally makes me hungry!..I can see the Local Corn sign.. and taste the fresh tomatoes.. smell the freshbaked pies..I love pie..I love the smell of the country..fresh air.. growing vegetation..earth.. . yum.. forever yumm...

A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It finds the thought and the thought finds the words.

Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

MikeDomino’s Poems (108)

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