Branches droop, shiny red and ready.
Apples ignored too long, skin once taut
now caved in, ooze on ground below.
Sweet, rot-alicious smell draws gnats
as fruit flies swarm over boot slick ground.
Orchard sulks as farmer tends to corn.
Written for dVerse Poets’ Pub. The bar is tended by Victoria Slotto today and she urges us to write a poem in the style of Imagism….”the words are pure description.” Photo Credit: Petra Winkler.