WASHINGTON’S FINEST or: The Courtship of Supple Apple

Supple apple

In the orchard

Glances over

To where Banana loiters.

 

“I’d eat your core, if you would let me”

Grinned the presumptuous plantain.

“Well, I never! Not unless you plan to wed me.

And even then,  you are crass and rude and plain.”

 

“Wed you!? Ha!” scoffed the exotic fruit.

“I don’t yet know what’s beneath your crimson power suit.

Are you tastier with or without your skin?

Silly western sweets who  turn down fun in fear of sin.”

 

Closer yet, the banana rocked

Fruit flies and the hint of abduction following.

Until his ‘pinch’ just below her stem

Sent our ladyfruit frantically rolling.

 

“How else do I know if you’re ripe?”

He called after her, bewildered.

She stopped (at a distance) to try and explain the discomfort that filled her.

 

“That’s not how you do it! I bruise! I bruise!

If you play the game like that, then leave now.

Good DAY sir, You lose!”

 

“But I don’t play those games.

I have too little time.

What if I said ‘you are glistening?’

Would that be just fine?

But wooing words are cheap and your peel is thin

(and useless once I’m inside-)

Yet you shield yourself with a fervor.

Now let me explain my side:

 

My peel is bitter

I’m even softer than you.

Without opening up

I’m just a boring, sulphur hue.

I didn’t ask to make a pie.

I simply wanted to screw

To know if you are crisp inside

or mealy or sour and overdue.

 

Now I’ll leave

But please don’t be offended

by my unwanted advances

No harm was intended.

Just remember that your looks made me hungry

to taste every bite that is you

which is an advantage I do not have-

inquisitive, persistent fruits are few.

Don’t take youth and beauty for granted

Or your seeds may never be planted.”

———————

That evening, these two made Ban-apple sauce

and then onward to that Smoothie in the Sky.

And where once there was only empty space

You’ll see an apple orchard

With peculiar blooms

When you rock on by.

In Memory of…

Lest you read my last article regarding Arlene’s Flowers and think that the Tri-Cities is a backwater of ignorance, I feel that this obituary from our daily newspaper is beautiful and full of honesty. I’m not sure if it is poetry or prose but it is art.

 

GILBERT JAY ‘GJ’ PITKOFF, Jr.

3-21-90 / 2-27-13

A kaleidoscope of sounds. Hard to contain with door or fence.

He was a rocker and a head banger. From below he was dangerous. Cats disappeared in his presence and dogs respected him to survive. He was a wanderer and a kitchen’s worst nightmare. A daredevil who turned the ordinary into extreme. A Stunt man that liked to bounce and crash through.

He was antischedule. He was a sleep fighter and a nonarouser. He was juicy. He liked looking out the window at the leaves in the breeze. He loved movement. He went through life unafraid. His guardian angels often worked overtime. 

G was liked by a bunch that “got it” and he touched quite a few. He was a special kindred spirit hard for a body to contain. At best he was the “Budster.” A unique brew.  I feel lucky that I knew him.

He taught me unconditional love. He never spoke a word but I will miss our conversations. I thank the many who cared for and cared about him. I know we will meet up again in a better place. But until then, Gj, you will surely be missed.

The Dad

—————-

Thank you, ‘The Dad,’ for this.  I hope I’m not out of line for transcribing an obituary; I just think this is the type of expression that should be shared.