I go apple picking, I paint a mug & Don't throw away that VCR
by A A Isham
[ poetry - april 08 ]
I go apple picking
I get up early.
"There's nothing like picking your own food." I whisper to myself on
the drive out.
This afternoon, I will become the king of apple country.
The little ones have already had their go at the low-hanging fruit. But with
my height advantage, and the phonebooks I keep in my trunk, I outdo them
all. The proprietress needs to bring a wheelbarrow - my take is that large.
On the way home, I litter the highway with cores.
Back at the house, I make us pie and sauce.
I throw away the remainders.
I paint a mug
I will call it the 'Mug o' Fire.'
It will be painted in bright oranges and yellows in flame shapes.
I paint a man at the bottom of the mug, looking dejected (a stick figure
man, looking dejected).
Old people wouldn't understand my mug - I give it to a girl I like.
Later, after we've had sex, I ask her:
Did you like the 'Mug o' Fire'?
Don't throw away that VCR
I use it to play that Ronald McDonald commercial.
When he's ice-skating - you know that one?
Along with old speeches of Martin Luther King, that commercial makes me cry.
That one little kid isn't alone anymore. He has that clown to skate with
him.
There's an old Puerto Rican man at that playground in Spanish Harlem, trying
to shoot hoops with his grandson, but he's hopelessly bad.
He never played hoops back home.
He's trying to connect with his grandson, whose father is gone, whose mother
is struggling, but he can't shoot the ball.
That's a poem about ill-received gifts.
And if that commercial doesn't make you cry, then you have no heart.
