The Fruit Man
Remember Beefsteak Charlies?
I don’t remember the last time I saw one
but every time I see one of those
tomatoes, I remember Charlie
my Charlie, the one who befriended me
he didn’t have to, after all
he was my grandfather.
Charlie set the bar high
32 years with a seasoned life coach
no one in my life came close.
He was a fruit man and when I was small,
he’d take me with him to work
a little red-haired girl in Bed Sty
playing with sawdust on Key Food’s floor
chattering with Bible ladies
who found me irresistible
who wore fashionable hats and shoes
and kept me in their prayers.
We’d have lunch at Arthur’s counter
or stop at a diner on the way home
He loved diners. When I was older
he’d take me to breakfast before school
even my teen years didn’t scare him away
We’d go to Chapman’s - Nick and Gertie -
she made the best grilled cheese sandwich
Charlie made a true best friend.
I tagged along because he was fun
and he sneakily gave me education
Charlie never made it past 8th grade
but no lettered professor
could match his wit or knowledge
he wiggled God into my heart
and society onto my conscience
and he laughed every day, at everything
at himself the hardest.
People loved him because he was real
I loved him because I just did.
He taught my daughters to sing and to color
a real playmate rollicking
along a floor full of trains and trolls
and every time I see those tomatoes
I remember his gardens
he would show me, teach me, tell me
the jewel was the beefsteak
unmatched in flavor, yet
big and lumpy, truly imperfect.
That beefsteak was everything
every seed, a lesson
growth spurring and rounding
imperfect and ever changing.
I mourn that man every day
but my teacher echoes
in every lesson he planted
in magic tomatoes
their voice in my ear
be better, be better.
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