BLOWBALL
The Drifted Words of Roger B. Rueda
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Monday, 15 April 2013
Mangoes
a poem by Roger B Rueda
Don’t pluck a stalk of green mangoes
from the tree –
then I was only ill once
and that came
of eating unripe mangoes.
They were acrid
even with honey.
Always choose
firm, but ripe mangoes.
Wait about –
they’ll fall when they become fully grown.
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