Pipped.

You can’t just become a strawberry farmer, you said
trying to place a stem in the carton lid without taking
your eyes off the road.
You’d need the space… and staff. All the gear.
 

I took a bite and countered, mouth full of it  
not if you did it solo.

In the wing mirror I saw myself
forever in the same plaid
missing phone calls from the field
cane sunhat saving my neck
ever bending at the knees.

Solo?
I nodded, reaching. 

You’d get bored.

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