Bare-Breasted Women

They were eating cherries

in Barcelona

on the day my grandma died.

She left me her apricot tree,

a closet full of rag rugs,

and a black and white photo

of her with a palm tree

coming out of her head.

She promised me her Victrola,

but my mom's cousin

took it, and then somehow

another cousin bought it,

and the last I knew,

my mom's cousin's daughter

had it, and that was goodbye

RCA Victor for me.

In Sierra Leone,

they were still selling people,

at least that is what National Geographic

said, with a full color spread

of a market, and some bare-breasted

women, which were okay to look at

in National Geographic,

but not to see anywhere else.

I haven't eaten a decent apricot in decades,

not since we sold the place.

Now the trees I climbed are 40 feet tall,

and the rag rugs are reverting.

I don't know about Barcelona's cherries,

but the palm tree is still coming

out of Grandma's head, and bare-breasted

women are everywhere.

Note: today's prompt was to write a few nonsense sentences, like "The raindrops tap out a cry for help." Come up with a message and assign it to something unlikely. Revise and make a poem. I came up with the first line, and the rest just happened!