Truck May 2015: A Poem by Sasha Perrin

IN THE OFFICE KITCHEN

Hey
    Relax
               This is optional.
Look at me.
        It's optional.

But would it kill you
    to eat a slice of pineapple?

I understand, believe me.
    Fruit is a chore.
The reason I don't eat apples,
or oranges, or plums, pears,
cantaloupe or any of that other crap
     Is because I don't want
     To be immortal if it means
I have to eat fruit.

It takes forever to eat
an apple.  I don't know why,
...well, maybe I do.

Because I can only eat half an apple, but I only
want 1/10th of an apple.
So, when someone offers me an apple,
I say no.

I don't want to throw away 80 percent of an edible apple.

And I sure as shit don't want
to spend 80 percent of the next million
years eating fruit
         while I watch everyone
around me having fun.

I think the founding fathers
knew this, too, but
weren't able to come up with a solution,
being busy with man vs. wilderness,
but I figured it out.

Make fruit into tiny pieces,
in a common room, and
if someone wants to enjoy a slice of
an apple in relatively secure quarters,
It's a clean discretion.

But I brought pineapple, because as far as my
personal taste goes,
I prefer pineapple.

Unless you get a very crisp apple,
and shine it on your shirt,
and look around at the sky:
(Specific memory)
makes me realize:
When you are eating an apple, you're invisible.
Who watches someone eat an apple?

In the office kitchen, I've left slices of pineapple for all to enjoy.
Because, in summary, I see someone eating an apple, and I think,
"Asshole."