Diagnosis Debra Southworth

Debra Southworth

Man in the white coat, smug stethoscope around your neck, Snatched the handle and upturned my apple cart. Shoved it under the 3:39 bus to Lost Palouse. Grannies rolling under the bed, Braeburns behind the couch, Pink Ladies into the gutter. Just out of reach, can’t pick them up. Further away they roll out of control. Under the taco truck, Into the laundromat, Roll behind the empty mall, stinking Mr .Jonagold. Hey, white coat man, you missed one! One Gala in my hand, now in my mouth. The taste is sweet. Sweet juice of hopeful chutney.