the pineapple

by Nathan Loceff

the floor creaked under her socks

in the next room the bedsheets were drying

near the radiator

I was standing there by the stove

warming up the coffee

the time that had passed during breakfast

had not been lost on that coffee

as we chewed and sipped

its heat slowly dispersed into the air


birds chirped in spring outside the window

the clouds hung as they usually do over the city

she took a step, turned, kissed me

the unexpected taste of pineapple on her tongue

brought me back to early morning


walking about

cobbled streets

wrapped up in a scarf

getting told off by a fruit seller

for touching his avocados

to see if they were ripe

they were not

of course

why else would someone tell you off for

doing exactly what you are supposed to do?


it is a very nice pineapple, she said

into the still air that filled the apartment

her left hand resting casually on my shoulder

taking another step she kissed me again


the taste of the pineapple

still on her tongue


Nathan tumbleweeded from May 25th 2010 to June 20th 2010 and again from April 20th 2013 to June 6th 2013. More of his writing can be found online at and