something fruity

i am sitting in the back seat with a fruit salad. tin foil rubbing against the cold browing mangoes, kiwi, bananas, apples. each taking its turn to rub against their silver dome. a shrine enclosing them from spoilage. a shelter till their deaths or freedom, depending on how you look at it. i can smell the nectar despite the phlegm stuck in my throat. me and allergy season constantly in battle to who's this town's sheriff. it's pineapples, i think. sweet hawaiian pineapples straight from dole. i'm their number one in command. captain cherry picker, saucer of milk drawn fro winged kittens. and i say, "i'm the conductor aboard this spoon train." somehow i'm thinking i'd rather be in their state -- vegetative -- moving closer to an ultimate end than further into a happiless nowhere or what some people call a future. i may be a pessimist but i think i'm making the most of it.
 
¶ 2:35 AM |