(This is not pineapple upside down cake…its been eaten.).
He still tastes it after all these years trampling across life as a hobo believing that all good things remain forever. Her name is irrelevant. But she did make a great pineapple upside down cake.
The story goes that on a day when biorhythms seemed to be in tune with the self, he chanced upon a slice of cake lying unattended on a kitchen table like the forbidden apple tree in Eden. The path of least resistance led straight to the plate and then moments later the vision became a sweet memory, of course the after taste lingering like the tingling feeling of emptying one’s passion into another.
But the intruder paid the price of beginning to love the cook. Wet hands and oil stains mingling with the aroma of sweat and spices. Colours of turmeric and shades of saffron played across their bodies… two psychedelic concocters conducting an opera of whims and fancies sautéed by passion and a dash of Heinz tomato ketchup.
Yes…yes…those were the days of wine and poses…of sudden clutching and kissing while washing the dishes or wiping the plates. The tell tale signs of broken crockery and bent spoons only gave rise to more nocturnal thoughts resulting in actions that personified mindless sharing…there were no boundaries except when it came to the pineapple upside down cake…it stopped here. The image of it lying unattended then became a sepia print of all that existed in their universe. Ennui opened the sluice gates of their lives and it was over just as soon as the cake was baked and eaten ad nausea.
Rancidness, envy and possessiveness overwhelmed the two to the tipping point of anger and hate. The crumbs of the cake dried up and were carried away by the tiny critters who had been witness to floorshows in the kitchen… Often stamped upon, sat upon or slept upon. Now they carted trophies of diluted lust to another corner of the kitchen that was their home.
Often they would see him enter the kitchen fidgeting nervously and looking around to see it anyone was there…then walk away with drooping shoulders and a sigh. Her panacea had lost its bite. Now the pineapple upside down cake resembled the futility of lust and like fairies existed only in the realms of a fertile mind.
What is hope or love or passion or possession…nothing more than a brief encounter in a dream and then lost forever in the drabness of daily life soaked in tepid emotions.
And as the sun sets across the yellowing rice fields he takes a deep breath and sniffs the air as if to chance upon another enticing pastry…and he stands there as dusk falls…waiting.
marculyseas 