Fresh Fruit

By Mark Belair

The fruit stand sprouted

two colorful umbrellas

beneath which

the gentle Caribbean fruit man

handed an apple or a plum or a peach—

I was too far away to tell which—

to a girl—how young was she?—

in her tight, white top

old enough to sport a figure—

and the girl set the fruit

to her nose and inhaled its sweet fragrance

and the fruit man and the young girl

laughed, it was what she wanted

so, with a precocious toss of her long brown hair,

she took it,

it was hers.

___

Mark Belair’s poems have appeared in numerous journals, including Alabama Literary Review, Atlanta Review, Harvard Review, Michigan Quarterly Review, Poetry East and The South Carolina Review. His books include the collection While We’re Waiting (Aldrich Press, 2013) and two chapbook collections: Night Watch (Finishing Line Press, 2013), and Walk With Me (Parallel Press of the University of Wisconsin at Madison, 2012). He has twice been nominated for a Pushcart Prize. For more information, please visit www.markbelair.com


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