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Writer's pictureEvelyn Creon

The Assassination of the Cherries



He plucked me from the tree;

The home I've always known.

Then dropped me in a bucket

With other cherries plucked from home.


When he filled the bucket,

Not one of us could respire.

Then into a big box we slid.

It was there we almost expired.


Not long thereafter,

There was a bouncing repercussion

As I was smothered between the others.

I thought," this is an assassination."


Our box was placed in a kitchen

Where we watched a cherries de-steming.

The human had no heart.

This sight it was abhorring.


After I'd been ripped apart,

I was place into the hammer bowl.

When it was my turn the hammer fell

I felt my pit drop, I had no control.


I then got submerged

In a sink of warm water.

Then I emerged with many others

And we were dropped into a container.


From there I went into a hot jar

That was packed to tight to respire.

To make thing even worse

Hot syrup was dumped atop of us.

We watched in horror

As the lid went on the jar.

Then the jar was lifted and dropped

And I remember nothing more.

written by Evelyn Creon

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