Poems - Ruth Thompson | Ruth Thompson Poetry

Fat Time

¬†Fat Time Under purest ultramarine the raisedgoblets of trees overrun with gold.We should be reeling drunk and portly as groundhogsthrough these windfalls of russet, citron, bronze, chartreuse. Everywhere color pools like butter, like oil of ripe nuts,like piles of oranges under a striped tent. Oh, let us be greedy of eyeball,pigs scuffling in this gorgeous…