Fresh produce from the farmers’ market
laid out on the cutting board,
root vegetables predominating
at this point in the season.
The focal point, a large
sweet onion, yellow-white,
its multiple layers of mystery
at the heart of the composition.
Just to the right, a bunch of early
carrots, deeply orange,
just yanked from mother earth,
short, stubby, but pointed, like
penises in a medieval painting.
Their bushy greens spread
to the left of the onion,
an intricate maze of leaves and stems
in darkly variant hues of green,
massed like pubic hair
in a porn mag from the seventies.
A large yellow squash
thrusts itself forward from the rear,
more than carrots like the sort
of penis one actually hopes to find.
In front of the carrots and squash,
still to the right of the onion,
new potatoes, richly red, round,
and glistening from a quick rinse,
firm like a young man’s testicles.
In the foreground, pale green beans
with their stringy ends
scatter off the board and look like,
well, beans, actually.
T. Allen Culpepper