Resting on my kitchen counter Lies a nest of ruby red tiny tomatoes Each complete in its skin Their size this summer out-selling the more robust ones. All the markets' approval Have been summed up (More than likely by Google) The first summer of its kind to revel in the winning cup. A fruit thus previously a minor commodity Is tasty, a society! Their oblong bodies huddled against The interstices of their plastic boxes Are said to last outside favorably (No blemishes). No obligation for refrigeration. In fact cool may harm their circulation. You can count on them, halve them, have them!
You can choose this small red seeded food not for pleasure, But as distraction, Or antidote to all Red Tape (the real matter), All the vices and disguises which obfuscate The vast and intricate Impossible layers of bureaucracy it takes To realize a tiny house.
Besides, what's wrong with socialism?