The Apple

14 Jun

 

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The Apple

by L. Stewart Marsden

The
apple,
scarfed
by one chunk-white bite
and unconsciously — but consciously —
dropped to the soft, rich ground below;
rolled quietly along the greened lea to rest
next to the tree’s wrinkled trunk; to be ignored
and not thought of for eons more, slowly browning
in its flesh, slowly wrinkling in its peel, losing
firmness and appeal to any that approached
the tree once more; its bitten bit, devoid of
juice, shrinking down in darkening browns
to resemble a visage of light’s opposite;
to sit and grin with toothy smile and
eyes a-slit, with nose a bit of hooked
profile; which, all the while
had been hiding in that
ball of fruit,which
begged a bite
from one
lax fool.

Copyright © by Lawrence S. Marsden, 14 June, 2014
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