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.
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.