four small green bananas
three abstract oranges
and two heart-shaped apples
overfill round wicker basket
posturing freely above
false granite countertop
don’t touch don’t touch
the artist with nine brushes
shouts from out of nowhere
putting a halt to hand reaching in
and mysteriously withdrawing
as if overtaken by guilt
december two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
the industrious child spent
his morning picking up the fallen fruit
of the maple tree
placing them one or two or three at a time
into a plastic orange pail
as his mother sat on the glider
on the front porch
rocking the little one to sleep
comfortably in her arms
both bundled within a shawl
a cool breeze made the boy’s cheeks
as pink as the tulips that bloomed
nearly a month ago
and when the pail became filled
to his satisfaction he disappeared
into the house
only to reappear in a second story window
where he proceeded to pretend
a fleet of military choppers
converged behind enemy lines
june two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
The oranges here are amazing as are the
tomatoes and apples. I didn’t come here
for the fruit but damn it’s all so good.
You may never see me again! JW
Postcard Poem Guidelines
september two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
