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Hunger Games

 

Five minutes past sell-by,

Near perfect to taste,

A plush gourmet banquet

Is tossed into waste.

 

Misshapen apples,

Slightly ripe pears,

Twisted bananas,

Soft kiwi squares

 

Are spied by the sorters,

Discarded as scrap,

While all the world’s starving

Present arms and clap.

◄ Prime Sinister

Parades ►

Comments

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Stephen Gospage

Fri 6th Aug 2021 16:27

And also to The Crescent Moon for the like.

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Stephen Gospage

Sat 24th Jul 2021 17:40

Thank you for the comment and the bit of inspiration, Greg.

Thanks to Nigel, Jan, Jennifer, Julie, Michael, Aviva, Holden, Leon, Pete and Sadika for liking this poem.

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Greg Freeman

Thu 22nd Jul 2021 16:50

The most ironic of titles, Stephen. Bitter fruit.

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