corruption

The lady reached,
with white-gloved fingers,
to the rich, fertile soil
heaped in mounds like
catacombs.

Trees so bare
let fly the few fruits
that still hung low,
and there they sat,
these plumb-colored orbs of flesh,
rotting in the last of
the warm sea breeze.

The lady stood,
paralyzed,
rubbing unwashable stains
deeper and deeper into
her satin palms.