Thunk  

The apples mock me
As they drop softly
To the ground outside my office window.

Like clockwork
they fall
With a muted
Thunk
That calls to me
That taunts me
With the bruised and splattered
Waste
Of it all.

Because the apples know, you see
When it comes to waste
I’m an old lady.
You know,
The one who washes her freezer bags
Inside and out
And leaves them to air dry on the hot water spout.

I’m the woman in front of you at Safeway
The one who takes half an hour to pay
Because I just know I’ve got those17 pennies
So I can give the cashier the exact change
that can make up the 97 cents.
Rather than her just giving me back three.

But back to the apples,
They know that all of this is true
So they milk it
Or juice it

© 2006 Jan Mann