the poetry of Charles Fry

1 July 1995

so i walk up to you with this
cute little green apple that's dried for two months
with a flower cut into one side and your face in the other.
"I carved it with my fingernails before I cut them" i tell you.
you take it and try to figure out just what it is and what it's sayin
but it's so hard to tell cause it's all withered.
the Eyes have gone to sockets; the nose got squished;
the petals are all shrunk and it's a wonder
the candle hasn't fallen off the top yet.
even the Heart carved by the stem has lost it's shape.
"May be you can light the candle for some festival" i mumble
but then shaking my head in embarrassment i add
"I mean, well, it does have seeds inside of it anyway."
tenderly you nod your head and slip it out of my hand
and Smiling you whisper "Yeah; thanks."

Copyright © 1995 Charles Fry