Still Life of Me by an Orange
Here is a big potato of a person
looking askance at me
on my shiny white plate.
She sits still, with a mountain face
sloping backwards, those yellow eyes
on the hill outside, her mouth closed,
arms folded. Every now and then
she glances or glares my way,
her mucky hair a stack on the top
and back of her round potato head.
She breathes quite slowly, and often sighs,
this person alone in her room.
If you have any
thoughts on this poem, Charlotte Gann would be pleased to hear them.