Apple on a fence.
I don’t know, but maybe I ought not
to have shoved this apple onto this spot.
For here it will remain
with no one to explain
as it shrivels away and begins to rot.
Poor little apple in my lunch
I spiked you away just on a hunch
that that brown spot
looked like food rot
and not something I’d want to munch.
Children are starving in places like China
or just down the street from a nearby diner.
Yet food by the bunches
goes uneaten after brunches
from fast-food shops and places much finer.
Bugs may come and have a heyday,
picking at the remains of the apple’s decay.
Eating away this fine shiner,
once bright as a light to a miner,
it’s soon dull and brown and shapeless as clay.
Good or evil? Oh, what have I done?
I’ve not fed the apple to anyone.
No nutrition for play.
Oh, how I’ve gone astray:
I should had eaten it or given it to someone.
I don’t know, but maybe I ought not
to have shoved this apple onto this spot.
For here it will remain
with no one to explain,
and even a homeless man will leave it to rot.
–by David E. Booker
