Fallen Apple

Fallen Apple

By Tony Robles

On Mission Street the








And watermelon are real

Apples don’t have buttons and screens

And switches and pushpads

They are just apples

With seeds

And skin and core

And there is a grocery

Store named in honor of

The apple called “Apple Grocery”

Where unadulterated, unbitten

Apples lie in the cradle of crates

Before seeing the

Mission Street sun

And a short

Distance from the market

A woman sits at the bus stop

I get off the #14 bus

Through the rear door

And come upon her face

In the apple moist air

She must have been

In her late 60’s, early


She held a straw hat,

Shielding her head

From the sun

She was beautiful

And I imagined her

As a young woman

The red life in her lips

Sung out as her eyes

Looked through a pair

Of sunglasses

I crossed the street

Knowing that at one

Time she could have stopped

The flow of both human and

non-human traffic

And she knew what I was

Thinking and she knew

That I knew that she

Knew and we kept it to


And the apples


© 2013 Tony Robles


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