I went out to pick blackberries in the rain.
When I left the house the rain was light.
Half way through my chore the rain got heavy.
The scientific curves of the blackberries
got rounded off as the rain gathered force
and attacked like the motherfucking Russians
I had been warned to fear as a child.
The Russians that inspired the air raid siren
on the grounds of my elementary school.
Soon the blackberries were black blobs of death.
2 comments:
I like this poem a lot, Beer. One of your best.
Chimo Ibby.
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