Artificial Fruit

Artificial Fruit


I saw them in a basket
on the table, in a slant
of late afternoon, winter
sunlight, a scrumptious cluster
of apricots so fresh their stems
were still attached, bearing, trembling
in a current of air from a vent,
browning leaves curling in the act
of dying. I stood there bothered
by their symmetry, too perfect
for actual fruit, so I bent
toward them, checking for redolence
or a bruise. Their plastic smell
gave them away, the telltale
sign of fraud. I felt a sadness
in their unbridgeable distance
from the real, imagining
their hollow desire, yea, longing
to trade their everlasting beauty
for even the transitory
dirge of decay, or clank of the knife
bounded against the stone of life.


Larry D. Thomas

Posted over on Larry D. Thomas Blog Site