Magpie Tales 30

[two writes this week]

One Bite

All alone
on the kitchen table
red, freckled
and blemished;
awaiting a suitor
who could appreciate
my inner beauty—

and you came,
took one bite
and left.





First Bite

A violent sound
a chunk of an iceberg
splitting off the core
and falling away—

a starburst of juice
cascades over and about
the gums; roll to the tongue
exploding in flavor.

This is no ordinary apple;
one in season,
ripe with intensity
to awaken.





© 2010 Michael A. Wells



Magpie Tales 30