Guilt, With Pears

Too early, perhaps, I read
Pinocchio who was wooden
and hungry with only three pears
his father sacrificed to him
who ate those up and begged for more.
Only the cores left, he ate those--
I shuddered at him swallowing
the sticky fibers like fish-bones--
and then, unimaginably
enough, only the three stems left,
he ate them and was satisfied.

Thus, years later, whenever I eat
a pear there remains on my plate
the core's little wet hourglass
and the stem, a dark wink of thorn,
as evidence I've failed, not good
enough or hungry, failed because
of the luxury of my poor life,
never a real boy, never a man.

Robert King graduated from the Iowa Writers Workshop so long ago he can't remember. After teaching creative writing and working as a poet in the schools, he has retired to his native state of Colorado, where he directs the website www.ColoradoPoetsCenter.org. His first book, Old Man Laughing, was a finalist for the Colorado Book Award in Poetry.