Day Five of NaPoWriMo is almost over so I’m glad my mind was clear enough today to think of something decent to write about. I’m not sure why, but a woman from a world ago popped into my thoughts and told me a story about a fruit man that she saw every day. I hope I captured her experience properly. Maybe she’ll visit me again one day and tell me more.

For now, enjoy…

The guy who runs the fruit cart has a crush on me

He can see me coming when I’m blocks away

When I am midway to him I see how he gathers the best pickings just for me

I get the same thing every day

An apple, an orange, two bananas and 10 green grapes

I walk slowly to him

I love seeing the effort he puts in just to please me

So I gift him with the delayed gratification of me

I still shine after all of these years

I know he’s watching the vibration of my hips

I’ve always had a slight hitch when I walk

Not sure where it came from, but it’s dazzled a few

I don’t see the big deal, but we like what we like

Walking to get this fruit is the highlight of my day

I dream about it and it gives me the fuel I need to stay here

I once had someone in my life that loved me like this fruit man

He arranged the breakfast table with just as much care

I liked my silverware just so, my coffee cup just so and he catered to my wishes

He leaned in on me when we talked so that I could only focus in on him

He loved me like water loves riverbanks and like the sun loves weeds cracking through sidewalks

When I reach the fruit man he has my breakfast, lunch, dinner and my snack ready

He places the orange and the apple together in a separate bag away from the bananas and grapes just like I like it

He lingers on my fractured smile getting what he needs from me

My mouth is worn and my teeth have traveled, but my eyes are still like an emerald jewel — A gift from my father

My eyes are what get me this fruit everyday – they plead innocently or naughtily

I have no currency

No home

Everything lost due to relationship downsizing

My love died and I let grief be my matchmaker

They weren’t worthy of me

But my guilt about my love overpowered my senses

Now I am left with a long walk

To a kind man

Who gives me my daily bread

I am thankful for his grace, infatuation and generosity

He is my cornucopia

© 2016, TamekaMullins. All rights reserved.

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.