Chippendales, by Whitney Mackman

Big red barn hovering over the 5 and in the blur I read APPLES or CIDER depending on the season such different shapes for the seasons and in the blur I am transported the warmth of the wood the smell of the earth the piles and piles and piles of apples bursting to the seam brimming to the roof making you drop in from the chimney to pick your fruit as you roll down the pyramid of apples.

Last time we passed in the blur I thought I caught the name Chippendales and in the blur I was transported to tan, chiseled beefcakes dancing on top of apples crunching apples in perfectly aligned teeth gripping apples in perfectly flexed biceps handing apples to me because I am too busy drooling to choose too busy sliding sexily down the pile of apples because what isn’t sexy about a pile of apples and beefcakes?

And then you say it’s Cottondales and bring me from my blur to the reality you located on your fancy phone and I tell you I prefer Chippendales as the blurry beefcakes drop their apples and become puffs of cotton without glorious pectorals without glorious piles of apples and when you suggest we stop for some cider I hit the gas pedal because I can’t I just can’t see the reality or it will ruin my big red apple barn dream.


Whitney Mackman was born and raised in the desert, and after 18 years of dehydration, she moved to Washington state to experience other seasons besides summer. Even though she loves evergreens, when she first saw a live oak with Spanish moss, she knew she had fallen in love again. Whitney now teaches at and attends UNO, and is the final year of her MFA program.

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