VII.
No, leave that one on the ground.
Don’t be fooled by the ruddy lustre
captivating your tongue’s imagination.
It looks like a crisp bite,
a mouthful of firm flesh and sweet juice.
Turn it over. See where the taut skin thinned,
failed open to marauders.
Leave it. Let it nourish next year’s fruit.
K. Ashby
In the Quiet 