Short Stories


Volume 2: At Six I Make Dinner and Listen to All Things Considered

By Hans Anderson

I am unscrewing a bottle cap
ribbed with acronyms.
The radio is on, it is a wonderful place
where experts hum along with my refrigerator
and I grab a box of bags.
There are names for these things.

This moment is separated
by others because I am realizing
I’ve never seen
the expanse of that piquant Pacific
where gamy birds eat what’s left over
and probably think it tastes chalky.

There is a chasm between me
and the gorging
of seagulls, who eat
until their stomachs explode
in more acronyms.
I hear on the radio that it looks like a grenade,

which is derived
from pomegranates,
which is a food I can eat.
If I don’t, it will get riper until the seeds shoot out
and shrapnel husks
will propel ruby red juice.

This juice is bottled up and named
Pom Wonderful.
If you’re French, you say pomme-grenade Wonderful,
In Latin its mālum grānātus Wonderful,
But you probably know pomegranates
by how they feel in your hand,

as an apple containing many seeds Wonderful.
You have just been implicated.