Poem: low hanging

lowhanging apple


the fruit of Happy Valley decorates the trees along the walk to the bay

apples blush and drop to the ground, the cherry is orange red

hard-sided pears, as many as the tree has leaves, present themselves in portrait

hidden under the branches, purple frost rubs off a plum’s sweet-shiny skin


a block over is an old lover, a crescent gap the size of my mouth is missing from his middle

bite taken, the remaining flesh kept cold is left to ripen

we ate our dessert too soon, a short harvest that blinked by


apples litter the ground

I am tired of apples


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