Ripe

I do not like the way a metaphor smells

when it has sat around on the counter

so long that the meaning begins to puddle

in the bottom of the bag, and the form of it

begins to grow fuzzy with green

or orange mildew.

But before that, when it has been around

just long enough to go a bit sour

and has the tang of grapes turning

to wine on the stems; when the skin

loosens and the juicy fruitness trickles easily

down your throat, with only a little

mushy bite —

those are the metaphors that speak

of warm days in summer,

and watermelon on the table

and the phone sitting silent for hours or weeks

when you wish it wouldn't.

Those are the metaphors that give you

an uncomfortable feeling

in your stomach, but only just enough

that you notice

and remember it afterwards.

Jun 3, 2010