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Roethke,
Theodore
. American poet; 1954 Pulitzer Prize for Poetry
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 Email Poem
Pickle Belt
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Written by:
Theodore
Roethke
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The fruit rolled by all day.
They prayed the cogs would creep;
They thought about Saturday pay,
And Sunday sleep.
Whatever he smelled was good:
The fruit and flesh smells mixed.
There beside him she stood,--
And he, perplexed;
He, in his shrunken britches,
Eyes rimmed with pickle dust,
Prickling with all the itches
Of sixteen-year-old lust.
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