I was thinking, months ago, about missed chances – if you take this too-short-to-bother-submitting poem as evidence. I’ve tried, multiple times, to add onto it, to make it longer, better, more, but it says what it needs to. And I wouldn’t want it to become one more call I never picked up.


 Everyone knows
 Hell smells like overripe cantaloupes
 Like just-missed chances 
 That last hug you didn’t give a friend
 The letter you forgot to send 

One thought on “Compost

  1. It’s been months and I still think about the lines “Everyone knows//Hell smells like overripe cantaloupes”. Absolutely haunting.

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