Let's just say apples do explode.
Then what would you do
if you were sitting on a bench
in a park eating lunch when suddenly
the stranger next to you disintegrated -
just as he lifts the fruit to his
lips just as the sky tilts and
pours sunshine down on his
red hair just as you turn to ask him
to read the poem you're reading
KABOOM he's gone and there you sit
alone on the bench poem in one hand
apple in the other - bright bits of peel
all over your new gray coat?
This is one of the first pieces I have read -(since lurking in the background these past few weeks)----probably half of your views of "Goodbye" --are me! ! I keep coming back to try to say something worthwhile. I have read a number of your poems as well, and love the distinctly quirky insight --from a mature POV.
Whatever, I love this poem,--the park bench scenario crossed with random quantum glimpses that explode into a delightful whimsical query.
Probably not the best critique--but hell, I am rusty!