vidalia

A rooted fist, sexless and it-skinned in an insect-winged sheath Do you envy the corn in their congregation; the beaming proud asparagus; the snap peas, with their curled  and dangled feet, clattering? They saddle the rain that weighs them down. They tango with the wind, knowing dance before demise, But you,  buried like a tooth, are headless, with no means to tip  towards sun And at your peak  of sweetness, you're bumped and parted from the earth, released only to be  peeled and diced