BAG BOY
i grocery shop at 2 am
in the bathroom mirror
groping, weighing, comparing
apples to oranges
rather
a lemon to a grapefruit
so soft yet so easily bruised
so young i become the Bag Boy
learning to arrange, to rearrange
still learning to accept
these misshapen parts
this cross-pollinated body
oh how i crave to be the farmer
a plucker of the budding flesh
oh how i yearn for the harvest
so that i may wrench these crops
from their low-hanging branches
and leave them for the crows