Perfection (& Medlar)


Two bags of medlar
Hang in the hallway
Where heat from the wood fire
Is fanned on them
Past them
To bedroom, bathroom
And the far corners
Of our cracked and creaking house

One bag is full of perfection
The other bag is full of blemish
They hang there
Each fruit
In its own skin

We eat blemish first
Making our way to perfection
But, lo and behold
When perfection is arrived at
We find that it too
Has the likeness of a bunghole


Previously published in
The Swineherd’s Journal



1 thought on “Perfection (& Medlar)”

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s