1. 15:38 21st Aug 2010

    Tags: my poetry

    snow white

    Pick me. I’m red and curved and you imagine your hand slipping down me, admiring, fingertips varying pressure, light to hard, hard to light. You’d like me - your grasp, tightening, holding my middle like you own me, because in your mind, you do. Toss me up in the air a few times for good measure. If I perspire, wipe me off; reassure me that you’ll never let me hit the ground. Carry me in your pocket, let people admire your new bulge and feel more like a man. Lick me a few times a day before taking a bite. Put me on your desk at work, in your right hand while you read the newspaper with your left on the train, and on the arm of your sofa while you’re watching late night TV. Put me on your nightstand before bed and nap for an hour, or even two; I don’t mind. When you’re rejuvenated scoop me up and tear into me, open me up, revile in my purity. Spat. Drop me. Hard. I’ll roll a little, hopefully land so you won’t see the brown again, won’t see the bruising that disgusted you; the mushy taste in your mouth alerting you that this wasn’t what you thought you were getting into and that it’s time for another trip to the grocery store tomorrow morning. Until then, I’ll wait a few feet from your bed, contemplating whether you’ll throw me into the trash or to the birds.