In the late afternoon sun
I sip my pilsener and
contemplate the weeds
I meant to pull yesterday.
Some are going to seed already.
across the yard, the
dwarf lemon tree
droops to rest one fat fruit
on the concrete patio.
I don’t have much experience
with fruit trees.
I remember when I was very little,
climbing into the branches
of peach trees with the other
hooligans of the outfield
while we ignored our fathers playing
corporate softball nearby,
only glancing up at the sharp clink
of cowhide on aluminum
to see if a homer might bounce
all the way
into our forbidden orchard,
so we could scramble down
and throw it back to the lumbering
outfielder puffing with futility
while the batter rounded third.
I don’t think we ate any of the peaches.
I would remember the guilt of it.
And I may be over-remembering
the lofty heights we could climb to
at just six years old.
I should pick that lemon
before it rots on the ground.
Poetry Month 2018
I’ve resolved a few times to write a poem a day during the month of April, and I actually succeeded once. I’m again trying it out. No idea what each day will bring. Some light verse, some politics, some “oh shit I didn’t write anything today” haikus. If you read one and feel moved to comment, please do. If you want to share your poetry, please share!
PS: Today’s poem prompt was the photographed lemon tree