Day 6

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My father likes to cut the mold off
Of deceased fruit.
A vegetable or two
Make dinner out of the dead
Leave just a bit of a piece of a food
A meal
He’ll brag
So little can produce so much
At least the whole bit wasn’t lost
He’ll pop into his mouth whatever is left
From a refrigerator
Gross for cleaning
Chew all
Swallow
Wishing he had more
Of the artifacts ripeness
Mushy and easy to swallow
More sweet
More flavorful he’ll say
He wishes he had more to share
You would not eat it anyway
You are glad you are the adult
You are now
No longer subject
To the granite lie countertops
Where knife meets mold
And the dead a little water
For clean allusions
You still appease him though
You love him
So you nod ok
Try to cut out
Your disgust.

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