Hardly A Victory

Words were reaped like fruit - but not without 
difficulty, reaching for a delectable peach just 
beyond the span of discerning countenance - 
hah, there, nearly, yet the one sought slips in 
a sly manouevre, still out of touch; when the 
bag’s filled there’s such bounty we’re tongue 
tied & lost in a flush of revelry - how much is 
too much - & who gives a hoot as we count 

Doubt claims space without braving excise 
but we’re used to it these days; where’s the 
irony it says, you’ve plucked the trees clean 
of the only words ripe, hardly a victory! Wait 
we exclaim - there’s still a peach left - there 
to the right of what you’d consider saved 
© 2 October 2013, I. D. Carswell