Farmer's Market

I collected 
green grapes,
bright yellow bananas,
red delicious apples,
delicately jostling in 
my canvas bag,
sweet-smelling oranges,
tart bloodied cherries.

I took them home,
up the stairs
into the fruit bowl
on my cheap
formica countertop.

A plethora of waxy perfection,
an afternoon jeweled treat,
they glistened, freshly washed
and rested themselves
in the curves of each other
to sleep until their peak.

But Monday came
and Tuesday passed
in the drear of rain
and lightning.
The fruits sighed and called to
the flies, the little winged specks.

And by Thursday my dear
scavenges,
my tenderly chosen
darlings
were softened
and crying.