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Rafter Fruit

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If I hung myself out to dry would you cut me down?

Would you wonder like a scientist at the paper thin fragility of deoxygenated skin?

How would you lower me with dignity so important to an ugly girl

More so than to a woman of beauty and slenderness,

Yet not taking the risk of inhibiting the task in hand?

Would you breathe all the while?

Would it scare you or would you be your taciturn self?

How long would it take do you think

For me to expire for you to perspire?

All the questions that a planner

Someone who likes to know what’s happening

Who doesn’t leave a thing to chance although

Spontaneity and surprises are so important and such talismans

Of romance and meaning that to imagine planning such a thing

That would deprive me of Christmas and birthdays and other random

Meaningless occasions when a present would make me smile like a child

And very occasionally jump up and down

Seems unworldly, improbably, importune.

But you’ve known how lonely this existence is.

You’ve walked away so many times that you can’t be surprised

You can’t be threatened any more

And must just be waiting for the fruit to fall, no, just hang from the rafter tree.

You’re just marking time staying with me.

A welcome harvest, eventually, it would seem.

 

 

©Poemic 2010 All rights reserved, no publication of this text permitted in any form without express written permission of the author

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