A poem about running in which apples feature prominently
Carlson’s Orchards, Harvard Massachusetts
One of our usual routes was a five miler
through the tractor rutted rows of Carlson’s Orchards
mysteriously called the S-Loop
which according to myth was named
when Joanna Veltri
our last state champion
came upon the naked Carlson himself
then about seventy
sagging from the trees
dropping apples to his naked wife
the branches as drooped as the old couple
the trees liver spotted and imperfect
against Carlson’s white hair
Streakers the team maintained
of an entirely different sort.
Our coach would have us batter out
a half mile loop over and over
while he leaned on a low branch
stopwatch resting on his clipboard
as he wrote down our splits
and counseled us to take risks
in our races and our emerging loves
to chase what could be
not wonder what if.
On our cooldown
we’d bombard the JVs with rotten fruitfall
that exploded fermented cider
against the tree trunks
and arms and legs
and once in Brett’s face as he rounded a corner
his arms full of the fallen fruit.
Then we’d run back to the school
our pockets filled
and pelt the girls as they returned
or stash them in our coach’s unlocked car
under his seat as a surprise air freshener.
Once in a downpour
the girls rained apples
at us from the roof of the school
the natural fallout we had coming:
I remember the scramble away
the same feeling as those repeat
back in the orchard
all breathing and flying and energy
the weight of muscles fermenting
the break that came
after cresting the last hill
as our coach snapped his stopwatch
and we sagged and drooped
hunched at the waist gasping
***
Satan’s Sidewalk
The lie is not that Rob and Keith ran that weekend
on a one mile loop for 66 hours and covered two hundred miles.
No, the lie is that they must have done it for charity
To raise awareness for a cause
for a cure.
So the truth is this:
For three days two guys ran and walked and shuffled
Around the same block
Eating all they could manage
Resting only a few hours
As their legs became brick and the sidewalk sloughed
Skin from toes and their clothes chafed skin to rash.
The truth is often so easy
That the neighbors refuse to believe it.
***
The AAU coach talks about his wine cellar
Someone had heard about his talent picking out bottles
that only got better with age
selected because they would be worth the time.
Bottles that developed.
Even though my knowledge remains limited
I was confident that it’s easy to get a good vintage
by sticking to what is established
and paying a premium.
So I asked about taking a risk
on an unknown – some vintner new
to the game who just needs a chance.
The coach remarked something about
not getting that person’s hopes up –
if they hadn’t figured out the game
by the time he heard of them
they never would and didn’t deserve space
in his collection.
***
Christopher Barry is a writer, teacher, and coach in New England. His writing has appeared in a number of publications in print and online.
