The Pumpkin Puking on the Porch

The pumpkin puking on the porch
looks miserable and deathly soft

He wallows in a mess of pulp
populated by seeds that gleam a steady pearl cream
in the moonlight


The pumpkin talks in a soft croak:
“There is no such thing as a political poem”

You bend over to listen
as the wind picks up

“Political poems are for puking pumpkins-
just listen to the bush”

The bush in front of you bustles



The pumpkin pukes
seeds and pale orange fiber
in the moonlight


The bush bustles


Inside the house:

in the moonlight:

bustling bushes and puking pumpkins


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