Pickles

A short poem about pickled cucumbers.

Bobbing in a glass jar on the shelf

Like animals in a laboratory.

Beady eyes unblinking,

Staring through the murky formaldehyde juices.

Rubbery skin, shining under the fluorescent fixtures

Of the grocery store aisle.

I select my next victims,

Based on looks alone.

Reviews

[B. Benson McMullen]

Gotta love dem pickles.

[GamingGal]

Oh wow, this just made me think of things bobbing in chemicals in a laboratory. Comparing pickles to that....not sure if I'll eat them again for a while. That or simply not eat them from a jar.

[Heather Clayton]

Loved the expressive words you used. Well done. I don't think I'll eat pickles for a while though...