Friday, November 13, 2015

Low Hanging Fruit

The street has run dry
of hungry monsters.

My feet are running.
Although I have not told them,
they know this cannot last.

Out in the street,
there is no Sun.
The sky is green leaves.

Branches sag with fruit.
The plums above
used to be my neighbors.

I see them rocking, bulging.
When they are ripe,
they will split the skin.

Wet slurping.
A gush.
Their water has broken.

Spiders creep from torn folds.
Swelled heads hang.
Eight legs drop.

I don't think
they are coming
to borrow my sugar.

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