see an apple
And think of a female teacher receiving
juicy gifts from her students,
spherical expressions of thankfulness for what they learned
from her.

I smell the classroom, a chemical odor of letters, characters, numbers,
Homework, what to do, maps and examples of directions,
Scores of games played in class
it gives one a headache to watch the marker flirt with the board
making scarlet marks

I touch a wonderful red fruit
I feel smoothness, not slick, my fingers are entrapped
By it’s sticky surface
Skin

I taste the meat
My teeth clap together as the bite is beaten into a pulp
Releasing a sweet nectar
Flows down my throat
Drink of the gods

As I reach the heart, the core,
taste seeds, I hear Mrs. Lang, who
When the end of the year neared
And my head was as full as a white board unerased year after year after year
Gave us cold root beer floats,
And let us watch movies
About nothing