To the market I go
With a map in hand
I want a tomato
But they only have grapes
I buy the grapes
For that is what I am sold
I’m told tomorrow there will be tomatoes
But what if I want an avocado instead
I pull out the map
I seek but do not find
A shining crocodile star on the hill
Yet sadly, compasses are in short supply
Supply and demand
Determine my choices
But my demand
Is hijacked by the roaches
I stand waiting at the door
Candy corn in hand
I eat the good stuff
And sing myself to sleep
It’s been a long day
To dream, to purr
Tomorrow the devil comes
With a token deal in hand
I fold my wrinkled map
Under the pillow it goes
Nighty-night it screams
A tomato squashes my face
Categories: Culture, identity, mental health, Poetry, Psychology, supernatural, weird, work, workplace
psychologistmimi 
Wow…great write up…tomatoes are sour… aren’t they?😂
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Thx. They can be 🙂
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Haha…yeah!!
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Great poem!
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Thank you very much. Have a great week ahead
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Reminiscent of Pablo Neruda’s ode poems……..lovely! Now I want a tomato, too!
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You had a great blog post on tomatoes many moons ago 🙂 yum
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Why didn’t you get the grape tomatoes?
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Hmm. They just were not to be had …
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Please plus one my post or follow my post at http://dotente.com
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