Pickle Belt

Theodore Roethke

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The fruit rolled by all day.
They prayed the cogs would creep;
They thought about Saturday pay,
And Sunday sleep.

Whatever he smelled was good:
The fruit and flesh smells mixed.
There beside him she stood,--
And he, perplexed;

He, in his shrunken britches,
Eyes rimmed with pickle dust,
Prickling with all the itches
Of sixteen-year-old lust.

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Comments2
  • VetaV49awcuz

    lol, this one's full of teenage awkwardness!

    • surili

      I've always been a fan of Theodore Roethke's work. There's something about the way he weaves daily life and raw emotions together that always gets me. 👏🍓💓 Not every writer can do that, you know?