object

Yesterday's poem was suppose to be about an object - I glanced around, then looked a little more closely, but I don't have any 'objects' that tell a story or contain important pieces of history - at least nothing I can identify right now - so somehow I started writing about an apple, (probably because I once wrote a fairly long poem just describing a cantalope) - but of course it morphed and instead I wound up writing about a snack....

Midnight Snack

Rub on shirt to shine,
Point of knife breaks skin,
Firm white flesh bleeds juice,
remove stem, core, slice thin,

uncap peanut butter,
quick glance ‘round and then,
no one there to see you,
dip the first slice in,

dozen pieces later,
lick each finger clean,
teeth all stuck together,
incomparable cuisine