Fresh Red Apple
© Surazeus
2018 11 15
The browned core of the half-eaten green apple
rots in dusty corner of cluttered room
of the old wood house on the busy street
between car garage and food factory
where brown rats play along the barbed-wire fence
and crows congregate on telephone wires.
Wrists chained to the rusty metal bed frame,
the girl on torn mattress in stained nightgown
stares at the cockroach on the crumbling ceiling
that wiggles its antenna to explain
numb despair which replaced the shocking fear
that beat her throbbing heart into submission.
The man who kidnapped her four years before
from the front of her house in early morning
as she was waiting bored for the school bus
pushes open the fractured wooden door,
followed by young boy in black leather jacket,
and explains twenty dollars for ten minutes.
Giving crumpled bill to the gaunt-faced man,
the boy waits till he turns around to leave
then pulls out gun and aims it at his head,
and shouts that he is now under arrest,
but the man pulls out his own gun and fires,
so the boy wounds his shoulders with two shots.
The gaunt-faced man falls writhing on the floor,
kicking the rotten apple with his boot,
while police officers jump through the windows,
and cuff his hands while he struggles and screams,
then drag him away from the dusty room
where the girl stares mute at face of the boy.
Unlocking the cuffs that bind her frail wrists,
the boy helps her sit up on creaking bed,
then covers her body with leather coat,
and, kneeling on the floor before her face,
he gives her bottle of water to drink,
so she drinks and smiles in his silver eyes.
My heart is rotten as that apple core
after being chained to the bed for four years,
where one hundred men raped me every day
since I was kidnapped when I was fourteen,
so my body is dirty and diseased,
worth nothing more than trash you throw away.
Lying silent in clean hospital bed,
after being washed and fed nutritious food,
the girl listens to old policeman talk
who explains her parents died from the shock,
so she stares at the wall and waits for tears
while holding fresh red apple in her hand.
© Surazeus
2018 11 15
The browned core of the half-eaten green apple
rots in dusty corner of cluttered room
of the old wood house on the busy street
between car garage and food factory
where brown rats play along the barbed-wire fence
and crows congregate on telephone wires.
Wrists chained to the rusty metal bed frame,
the girl on torn mattress in stained nightgown
stares at the cockroach on the crumbling ceiling
that wiggles its antenna to explain
numb despair which replaced the shocking fear
that beat her throbbing heart into submission.
The man who kidnapped her four years before
from the front of her house in early morning
as she was waiting bored for the school bus
pushes open the fractured wooden door,
followed by young boy in black leather jacket,
and explains twenty dollars for ten minutes.
Giving crumpled bill to the gaunt-faced man,
the boy waits till he turns around to leave
then pulls out gun and aims it at his head,
and shouts that he is now under arrest,
but the man pulls out his own gun and fires,
so the boy wounds his shoulders with two shots.
The gaunt-faced man falls writhing on the floor,
kicking the rotten apple with his boot,
while police officers jump through the windows,
and cuff his hands while he struggles and screams,
then drag him away from the dusty room
where the girl stares mute at face of the boy.
Unlocking the cuffs that bind her frail wrists,
the boy helps her sit up on creaking bed,
then covers her body with leather coat,
and, kneeling on the floor before her face,
he gives her bottle of water to drink,
so she drinks and smiles in his silver eyes.
My heart is rotten as that apple core
after being chained to the bed for four years,
where one hundred men raped me every day
since I was kidnapped when I was fourteen,
so my body is dirty and diseased,
worth nothing more than trash you throw away.
Lying silent in clean hospital bed,
after being washed and fed nutritious food,
the girl listens to old policeman talk
who explains her parents died from the shock,
so she stares at the wall and waits for tears
while holding fresh red apple in her hand.
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