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 cradle of crates
Before seeing the
Mission Street sun
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 crossed the street
Knowing that at one
Time she could have stopped
The flow of both human and
non-human traffic
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
© 2013 Tony Robles