Noses turn up at the food in my picnic basket. |
I packed the picnic basket full of good things to eat; apples crisp as morning rain, carrots snappy as newfound insolence, cucumbers knifed thin enough to be used as bookmarks... and cherry tomatoes direct from the vine, potent enough to provide taste buds with a spiritual awakening, and thus elevating them to mouth-watering heights so as to splash freely in pools of Perrier. Alas, my basket-packing labors were for naught, as noses pointed skyward, and frowns emerged on countenances, both young and old. I saw the scowls, I heard the sighs, as if disappointment was a little child without a friend, prone on a windswept playground. Seems cravings swayed like elms in summer storms for greasy meats, for German chocolate and apple pie, for sugar baked in varied forms. I held up a fruit cup and grinned, then made my case for pineapple, for peaches, for cherries and pears. I lingered over a slice of Mandarin orange, then closed my eyes as it slid down with ease. Soon, dissatisfaction relented to need, and pouting ceased as family crunched vegetables, and devoured the tasty bits of fruit. 40 Lines Writer’s Cramp 6-5-16 |