Fallen Apple

On Mission Street the

Lime

Papaya

Banana

Jicama

Mango

Pomegranate

Cantaloupe

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 crate’s cradle

Before seeing the sun

Of Mission Street

 

And a short

Distance from the market

A woman sits at the bus stop

 

I get off the #16 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

70’s

 

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 stood across the street

Knowing that at one

Time she could have stopped

The entire street, me included

 

And she knew what I was

Thinking and she knew

That I knew that she

Knew and we kept it to

Ourselves

 

And the apples

Knew

Too

 

© 2013 Tony Robles

 

 

 

 

 

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