Spiced Apple Lost in the Acres

They never fall too far from the tree, yet they always seem so much different than we expect...

Uninjured green apple of the weaved brown basket,
it sits upon the cold surface of the wooden casket.

A regular resident of the white walled room,
faceless amongst the crowd of red cousins,
forgotten amidst its yellow friends of sheer number.

It topples over its awaited escape-
Escape from the groping hands.
Thud. Thud.
Landing on its calyx, blossom end,
it looks about its new environment.
Fiddling, fumbling, off its course.
Boring beige of soft carpeted floor, you’ve got a new visitor.

Green apple of the weaved brown basket,
skin once lack of bruise, now totally scathed.

Author's Note

author's note: I hope you all liked it. Review please. I turned this in for my Poetry class, but haven't said out loud to them, so no reviews whatsoever. Feel free to interpret it in anyway you wish.

Reviews

[o]

The apple's color relative to its surroundings is a running theme of the poem. First we are told it is of the "brown basket" and "A regular resident of the white walled room" then we see the apple "faceless among the crowd of red cousins" and "forgotten amidst its yellow friends". Finally we see it on the "boring beige" of the floor. The apple's surroundings are constantly identified by a color that is not of its own.

I think this poem is about feeling out of place. The apple seems to be looking for somewhere to belong to. Yet it is dogged by a perpetual sense of incongruity. Although in the end, when it "escapes", it falls and ends up "totally scathed". So by becoming bruised and scathed, it has managed to slightly modify the thing which has caused it to feel "faceless" and "forgotten": the discordant color of its green skin.

Or maybe I just read too much into this and it was just an apple that fell out of a basket. I don't know.