Honest Appetites

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