Dolesong
"...Even used the dregs of my inspiration to write six of those Dole Pineapple
jingles!"
--Sylvia Plath, Letters Home
The gridded pear,
cracks in its hide.
The sugar
sacrifices its glucosity...
A melon,
holy gold.
The can makes it precious.
The same can,
Hoarding its numberless fellows.
Out of the factory their thick drums roll
over the cartography of nations,
maps, Mercator projections;
The world will buy!
Black holes obsess my teeth.
Tooth-rot; brain-rot.
The sugar.
From the high
Corolla
that launched one seed into space
The ovens glowed like heavens,
Incandescent.
It is a Dole (TradeMark),
this holocaust I walk in.
O golden pear the world will kill and eat.
Kenneth Jones
San Francisco, USA
Friday, December 1, 2000
The Sylvia Plath Forum is administered by Elaine Connell, author of Sylvia Plath: Killing The Angel In The House.
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