Apples
and what place is this,
she asked intrigued,
young non-binary ignorant of everything
that did not refer to gender.
-in this orchard I harvest our future tumor,
I told him, who was still amazed,
the bulging eyes of a student
doing his school research.
here I pick the transgenic apples,
I said, showing her the basket full of fruit.
-I drink boxed juices, he said;
there are vitamins in them,
it's written in the app...
and then he said his sister is autistic
and she loves to sit in the kitchen,
turning on and listening to the microwave sound.
a small plane dropped the defensive
and we saw the most colorful rainbow in the world
like a soda label on the plantation.
we will have a good harvest this year, I said.
guarantee of a good contract with the hospital,
I said smiling sarcastically.
seriously, she asked and i left the question sound
echo among the small apple trees in the orchard.
now the moon was smearing silver
a grayish sunset remnant.
then, an almost translucent father arrived
with the electric car, shaved face
of those who work with e-commerce.
from the window he said: we had dinner at nine,
let's go girl!
and I imagined this family under the LED lights,
charging cell phones beside the bed,
modern people with medical plans
that cover almost everything.
I said goodbye while turning on the flashlight.
at night I look for maggots in the apples,
but I never found any of them.
Copyright © Marco Chies | Year Posted 2022
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