Fresh Bite (Poem)

My child whines
that the sun is too melty,
the dirt is too hurty,
and the wind is too empty.

She begs for soda pop
from a desert oasis
while mirages of commercial
glitter-isms rise above the horizon.
They hover like phantoms.

She's kicking the Earth
in sour anger.

Tears, real tears
ooze from her innocently
profit-baked mind.

I spray the plastic
from her forehead
with a garden hose.

I feed her the crescent slip
of a watermelon slice.
She folds that pretty shape
into her bubbled lips,

and it forms her mouth


into an honest smile.