Gnarled old thing
with twisted limbs
and thick grey bark.
I lean on the fence
watching
as birds fly in
disappear into the leaves
reappear
flustered,
flutter off drunkenly.
The fruit glows
dark and shining
like eyes across a room.
I wonder
for I’ve ate apples
sweet and new
but I’ve picked apples
wormy and dry.
Such a divine old tree.
Somehow so familiar.
This fence is falling down.
From Poems from the Chatterbox