Politics of Green Apples

Green apples rolling down Park Avenue

Make no effort to avoid my path

Leaping cement chasm and canyon

Intent to reach their timely demise

Traffic is light, sky becoming dark

I sense dinners cooking

The weather cool enough

to discourage fast food

Peeking through brown fences

I converse with neighborhood pets.

The yellow tabby is not fond

Of my brand of politics

For a minute I forget

I am not in New England

As I survey grand houses and

allotted parcels of land

Struggling with its careful design

To create shangrila or a neglected mini-jungle

Stuffed full of trees to overcome

the smallness of the land.

Sidewalks uneven,

I take care not to trip

On a newly grounded sparrow

Laid to rest on the street

No time to autopsy,

I pray for his spirit

And hope the cats are well fed

So he can rest in some peace.

A lightly-hued woman, armful of groceries

smiles politely and I nod in return

I don’t think I knew you

could still get paper bags.

She trots up a staircase and through an open door.

I wonder who’s waiting for his lavender princess

If they were in need of some staples

Or after dinner treats, or something more.

The stoplight is waiting at the end of the street

Holding its green while I cross at the signal

There are few others out in this dusk

I wish some would leave their cars home.

Ten minutes to go before I end my short journey

Yet more houses to survey and plants to identify

I think landscaping has possessed me

Overtaken by Boston ferns.

A porch light snaps on

As I traverse the crumbling stair

Breath short and evening long

Summer nights give way to this crisp air.