• At the fruit stand

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    sit the hardbacks, so sure about themselves
    and the softcovers, so sure about not getting

    ahead of themselves. Having mastered tweezers
    who minds a splinter or two every now and then?

    I’ve since gone on to trace the mouths of baskets,
    an eye on the marginal produce.

    Should I point out the sheen on these
    tell me “they’re insightful”

    don’t say “don’t be fooled”
    your smile ready but incomplete.

    Are you false-modest or came the harvest
    so hard on you? Melons bulging against the column

    mangoes incapable of gold, the rash on your arms

    throbbing or seeming to throb, my longing for you
    unrequited—spread out neatly, however—and without remorse.

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