Stewed Apple
End of the week, the week’s groceries are looking meek. I should have picked up more than just beer and bread the night before, I did not think ahead. I wanted the ice packs to thaw out on my joints, frost bite my aches away. The bread water with hopps hit the spot, my night would have been ruined if it went warm before the wraps started to leak. On the ground I was next to the wooden bed, ain’t showered yet but I will after I learn how to forget. I won’t forgive, that’s throwing the towel in. I work with my hands, not with the plans. On the living room rug I laid, still living as of the morning of today. If I had a wife, i’d throw my wallet at her and tell her to bring something beyond lead water that we both can eat. My knees feel shin deep but I can’t just become one with the rug on the day that I love. Not Valentines day, the day of the week where the working weak can finally peel off the paycheck from the mouth and be able to speak. The sundays where your muscles can melt like a sundae, attempt to be powerful for once under your own roof. You can’t do anything without getting that hunger out of the way, especially when we are breaking into the tens. The delay of the first meal is a rationing tactic, leave the canned goods for when time find me. Walk into the kitchen feels like i’m walking up hill, too bad there is no blueberries here. Apples stay in a basket like they are made of plastic and waxed. Keeping the doctors away is why I got these apples, I don’t eat them. I don’t get why people say it like that, the saying makes it seam like it is garlic to dracula. Having it around is enough to keep the doctors away, even though I never been to the doctors anyway. Last time I seen a doctor is when they were still sailors. The coffee is brewed and now this apple will be stewed, just let me peel the damn thing. I only know how to grill and stew things, i’m no strudel. I know I should eat the peels but let me have it my way mate, i’m already going to eat the crusts of the toast. Let the domesticated pig rodent that is in the corner of the kitchen have the peels. The sticker from the fruit goes on the wall, I like to experiment and see if it will stay on the wall. With a paring knife, the skin comes off like wallpaper if you are slow enough. The core has to go to the pig rodent fella, that fucker gets to eat before me. I keep the seeds every time, one day these will come in handy. Whether it’s for planting trees or as a creative snack to get out of jury duty in an overly dramatic fashion is for me to decide. Boiling in the pot is honey, butter, cinnamon, and sugar. All this stuff is domesticated around here like that vegan pig rodent in the corner. I gotta turn the handle away from me because it is running with scissors, its an acid attack waiting to happen. The Englishman and Waler’s napalm. The honey goes on the wounds like the Egyptians if you can your hand again. There’s something about cooking one apple in a small pot that is like watching fire burn with memories that lingered. Man, I should have just made honey buttered toast and read the papers. All this creativity is gone make the mind wander, bake alaska the brain before the first shit of the day.