Jars lined up on the counter,
lids popping like flash bulbs 

        * POP-a-razzi! *

in clave rhythm, like heartbeats
only faster, weight shifting
foot to foot in tempo,
accentuated by the hips.

Love ripened on the vine,
packed hot, water-bathed,
shelved for when we need it,
when hunger splits the darkness.


About Ray Sharp

Father, poet, triathlete, local public health planner
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3 Responses to Salsa

  1. hypercryptical says:

    Yummy scrumptious words.
    Anna :o]

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