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Jersey Red, Take 2

I wrote a really angsty, tomato-ey filled poem called Jersey Red when I was a freshman in college. It gained me a complex, fascinating reputation amongst my peers. I thought it was brilliant, although, in retrospect, it probably wasn’t one of my best poems.

Today’s prompt is to write a love poem . . . but the object of the poem should be inanimate.

"IMGP9584rd" by Bill Benzon https://flic.kr/p/d6Z8SQ

“IMGP9584rd” by Bill Benzon
https://flic.kr/p/d6Z8SQ

“Jersey Red”

The smell is as fresh now as it was then;
I can recall the soil beneath my nails
digging for the roots of a Jersey Red time and time again.

The pungent smell dances upon my nose, senses swollen
As memories of denim overalls are found amongst the details
The smell is as fresh now as it was then.

These were the years before I grew a hatred for any mud pen,
a time I did not know would turn into fond memories and tales,
digging for the roots of a Jersey Red time and time again.

My innocent childhood cheeks were reddened,
framed by my perfectly parted pigtails.
The smell is as fresh now as it was then.

We’d consult the farmer’s Almanac like Wise Men,
Hoping our tomato plants did not ail,
digging for the roots of a Jersey Red time and time again.

I can still feel the satisfaction of the growth of our garden.
We’d eat the tomatoes on the playset, oblivious to what our hard work had entailed.
The smell is as fresh now as it was then;
digging for the roots of a Jersey Red time and time again.