Posted in poetry, politics


A man selling beets at the midweek market
Tried his best to denigrate his rivals’ roots,
Pointing out departures from perfection
Altogether harmless and common in such crops.
About his own beets, however, he was silent,
Offering them only in opaque burlap
Sowed extra tight, the merchandise
Beyond inspection out of sight.


I’ve retired after a career teaching law. I divide my time now between Athens, Georgia, in the States and the south coast of Ireland.