Have You Any Carrots?

I miss cheese sandwiches and the sharp-sweet crunch of cold grapes at eleven thirty in the dusty alley of the horse barn on the estate where I worked for six summers, and thought on the doldrum days that I hated the heat and eight hours was hell-o monotony.



I don’t know why I  miss these things.
The only explanation for this wistfulness is uncertainty.
University is grand but the future and its strangers
are nothing like hot horse breath in your ear:
have you any carrots is safe and simple.



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