A brown and slimy autumn leaf
was mashed into the floor.  I said
‘Who didn’t wipe their feet?’, and spread
the shopping bags around it. Grief

was hiding in the food again:
the pumpkin, the bananas too
brought me to tears. That’s nothing new:
last week it was the multi-grain.

My flailing mind begins to thresh
its blighted no-hope harvest. May
this season end. I need to say
when planting can begin afresh.

published in Blue Dog (poetry magazine of the Australian Poetry Centre), July 2009

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