I usually eat a peach
Only when they're in season though,
Because other times they're not in reach
Whenever I finish eating them
I'm always in a pickle.
There's the issue of the peach pit
Stupid things are so fickle.
Instead of walking to the kitchen,
To throw in the garbage like a bother,
I play some living room basket ball
With the cup, apparently full of water.
I will admit I didn't read your poem. But I thought that this sad image reflected the despair that must comprise your very being quite well. It would be better if there were tears though.
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