MY SIXTH GRADE TEACHER USED TO TALK ABOUT PERSIMMONS ALL THE TIME

‘Persimmon’ this and ‘persimmon’ that –-- how fine the ripe persimmon, how unsavory the unripe persimmon. Par example: “To even contemplate the word ‘cheat,’ “she would proclaim, “is like the bitter taste of a green persimmon upon the innocent and unsuspecting tongue.” What the hell, I would think. And Her arms would jiggle and she filled me with fear and sometimes horror. ‘You!’ She would say, all jiggly and pointing at me. ‘Me?’ I would ask, quivering and filled with horror. WAIT A SEC! Look up there at that persimmon tree!

Suddenly, as though God did it, we are in California and school is over. There are only a few little irregular orbs left at the very top of your beautiful persimmon tree where the squirrels couldn’t get them alas. And I will fetch one of those hookamajigs to get them down, and then we can eat them with honey and cream and night will fall and we will become sleepy. Tomorrow might even be summer, or a beautiful day for graduation.

I do love this tingly feeling I have right now -- I just can’t help it.

all artwork, including monsters but not old timey photographs,
® mr. crispy flotilla, 2007