Squashes in the Farmers' Market

Market squashes (do the Brits

call them "marrow"?) conjure a carnival
of painted shapes self-sculpted
by the genius of seeds. Like books,
the squashes have pulp inside,
enclosed by hard or soft covers.

Some species hold a hollow
zone where sound can play.
Dried gourds become instruments,
and a thumped pumpkin will mumble
autumn syllables. A crook-necked
squash can become the baton
that conducts Zucchini's unfinished
symphony. Still, Fall does mean

the party's over. We select our squash,
haul it home to grill or bake--or cut up
raw. Next Summer's vines are already
blue-printed in seeds as the soil rolls
over, exhausted, in need of dreams.

hans ostrom 2023

Concerning Cricket

A Cubist concoction of layered planes,
seems cricket. A match progresses
in a stiff-legged imperial ballet
with yachting costumes. Scoring

is prolific, as with stock markets.
There are slap-bats and wee wooden
sticks--quite droll. Cricket is so
very, very something, far afield

from clarity but highly ordered,
bright and secretive. Sedate, surreal.




hans ostrom 2018