Pumpkin Flowers


I split and stacked

Two cords of wood that fall,

Axe, maul and wedge.


Knotted oak burns ‘till morning.

Damp wood sizzles and snaps,

Leaving before midnight.


Chimney fire,

Quickest way to burn creosote,

Tower of rage and smoke.


Shook down the ash,

Wrist flick,

Flung out over the compost,


Flour on fresh dough,

Slatey as a mole’s fur,

Knead, punch, smack, hard turn over.


In summer, pumpkin vines crawled out

From the top of the pile.

I ate the flowers, beer battered and fried.


© M.G. Iannucci 2017

Photo: Pumpkin Flowers

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