A&F Poetry Collections: ‘bleichspargel’

Harry Shook, Staff Writer

it’s raised in caves, shielded
by moonless soil, served on
my grandmother’s spoiled china set,
never able to savor sweet balmy rays.
stalky spears – locked
and formed into stagnant
companies of soldiers –
molded to become wishes.
i ate it with motorized,
bare-skinned appendages –
white gold, only enjoyed if its
biting skin is undressed and shedded.
the prodigal, yet sweeter sister,
found in the hills of the Black
Forest, woken up early
by greedy toddler hands.
the tips of albino florets, enjoyed
on squares and around domes,
by ein Volk ravaged by a
half-burnt chronicle of hell.
like a delicate and ignorant
homeschooled student; cloistered
and molded by a mother’s
social spirit – a soiled shelter.
man molded nature; always trending
on social feeds – only ever
seasoned with salt and pepper –
lingering smut stuck in my teeth.
i hate white asparagus.