poem

 Fruit Tree

I pick up an apple

And say this is a pear

You roll your eyes

You really don’t care

Anymore, whatever, call it whatever

It’s overripe and starting to smell

I cut it open and extract a few seeds

Here, stick one in the ground, if you dare

Then go on your way

Call it exile, call it anywhere 

I’ll be the one who waters it

Watches it 

Shelters it from winds 

By the time it starts to shed leaves 

You’ll neither distrust me

Nor remember to trust

That I'll do as I say 

Either way it becomes a tree

That dangles with succulent truth

Whoever wins

Gets to keep the shade

As for the fruit

I promise, I promise to share 

12/10/22