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Polished Pears

much to the frustration
of the artist, the artist’s
assistant keeps polishing
the fruit that is arranged

in the beech-carved bowl
that sits at the center of
the slanted table. the
artist is hungry, but

is generally stoic about
it. each time the
assistant picks up
an odd-shaped

specimen from the
bowl the artist’s eyes
drop slowly to his
palette, and its

blobs of color
refuse to assuage
his appetite, and worse:
when not focused on the

bowl and its contents,
he cannot but imagine
his assistant’s mouth
around a hunk of a

ripened pears’ belly
just before biting a
chunk out of it. a
few weeks later,

the portrait of eloise,
the artist’s assistant,
with her lips pressed
upon an overly-vivid

red bartlett as if she 

were soon to inhale it 

in one breath, would

win the blue ribbon

at the franklin county
fair. to this day, the
aged flesh of the
cores of countless

red bartletts can
be found strewn
profusely over the
artist’s bedroom floor.