Eating Close to Home

by John Paul Caponigro

The old goat down the lane

looks like the man who makes cheese.

The mother of the farmstand

skin’s orange as the carrots she grows.

The tongue of the oyster

farmer’s as salty as the sea.

I see colors sown in all seasons.

Flowers in friends’ gardens seed mine.

Neighbors are my daily bread, I devour

the places they offer, they become us.