Writing

The Conflict

by John Powell

Thursday February 15, 2007

If Holden Caulfield wore a banana suit,
he would be my spitting image.- outwardly
foolish while inside dances Socrates
on acid. I am yellow fruit yet my meat is

common philosophy. You may look
at me and laugh because who dresses
like that? But if you walk with me
through the neighborhood, I’ll compose you

a sonnet and you’ll melt
like forgotten chocolate in my jeans.
You’ll see the strangeness is really just a way
to single me out in the tree tops. There is conflict

in my smoky head. I can’t decide
if I want to walk you all the way back to my sofa,
let you peel me in your hands. Truth is,
I want to pluck you from your stem and chew you

until I can swallow. I want to plant my seed
in foreign soil and see what hybrid sprouts
when Spring arrives and I meet my love for
the second time.