Conversations with Vegetables

By Robert Schaefer

A disdainful remark about the quality

of the produce produced a chorus of dissent

from the incensed denizens of that

semi-refrigerated, sub-tropical region.

One particularly distinguished looking cauliflower

(with especially abundant and firm lobes) turned his head

and upbraided me for my lack of manners.

He said that he was the 9^th reincarnation

of Einstein’s brain -- having previously revisited

this world as a jumbo-shrimp, a rat-infested

disease, a pregnant mule and an amusement

ride train-car conductor with a broken watch.

He said it had not always been so,

at first he’d been lonely, but

eventually he followed his own advice

and invented himself as a god. After which, he

and Vishnu went careening through the universe

(breaking his own laws and exceeding the speeding

limits) swilling plum brandy on flame-spouting

Harleys -- creating and destroying worlds at will.

He still stood strong upon

a relatively sound foundation,

but knobby knees were bruised and black

from the beating. The bluish-gray fuzz at his temples

had already begun to traverse those

snow-covered bushes, imparting a sense

of disheveled gravity.

He asked me to drop him off in the bakery aisle,

he said that one of his old flames had ended up

there as a cinnamon-raisin bagel and he was

anxious to see her while she was still fresh, and

there was still time.