|
THIRD PLACE
Ode to Apples
By Fred Venturini
Patoka, Illinois
An orchard is a paradise—
Where I can bathe in bushels of sweetness.
I taste the red—perfect.
The green ones—crunchy and cold.
The yellow ones—overwhelming and juicy.
My chin drips, my hands drip,
But it isn’t enough.
I grab that big glass jug of liquid gold,
with sticky, greedy hands.
I turn it upside down and empty it into my mouth,
Pouring forever,
Quenching an infinite thirst,
And spilling from a smile.
Copyright (c) 2003 for
the author, all rights reserved. |
|
