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Crabapple Tree
A stately crabapple tree stood on the field
Above which some lonesome mockingbird would stand
As if on a watch, and we ran to the tree screaming
Lured by the hope of sweetness and the next thing we know
An army of greedy boys and girls would yank at the branches
Dropping fruit after fruit, stuffing their pockets
Full of what was so precious to them on that afternoon
Until one of them would bite into one, make a face and spat
And the fruits ended up as ammos for our slingshots,
Some in the dog food bowl, and the rest we just threw in the air.
Later that year, the rotten pebbles of the crabapples we would trample
Mixing the fruit with the soil, forgotten and unloved
Like the crabapples, we kept after something we knew
Would never make us happy, but we always came back, ready for more. -
