the glow of apples

i see the grocery clerk
with his

cloth, shining apples.
buffing them below

the fluorescent lights
of the super market.

then stacking them in red
rows.
some less red
than others,

across the aisle are
green apples, they too
have a certain

unnatural glow.

must there be a shine
on everything we
possess, or own?

take old love for
instance,

once past the skin, there
was little
you wanted to know.