Dried Apricot, or Friday Lunch
I nestled my teeth into the flesh of a dried apricot,
Squishy, not firm,
Sweet, succulent, favored fruit,
And I bit into a bone.
My thoughts were these:
How the sweetest things in life always have the bitterest of endings;
Why I always desire to be the person I once was, rather than the person I am now;
How the most promising of beginnings can yield the most horrifying conclusions;
How the normal course of events can become upended in an instant;
And of how I must now content myself with being a sad poet,
Noting these dismal observations, and shaping the language in a way that effectively communicates them,
And extracting for the world sublime truths from what seem like the blandest of occurrences.
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Submitted by jemanuelson on June 15, 2020
Modified on March 05, 2023
- 37 sec read
- 8 Views
Quick analysis:
Scheme | ABCDEFGHIJKL |
---|---|
Closest metre | Iambic octameter |
Characters | 696 |
Words | 125 |
Stanzas | 1 |
Stanza Lengths | 12 |
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"Dried Apricot, or Friday Lunch" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2025. Web. 18 Feb. 2025. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/53721/dried-apricot,-or-friday-lunch>.
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