They say,
she’s a good girl.
Girls like that don’t just
grow on trees
but once they’ve
taken enough bites
they leave.

I wish I was the shiniest
Apple on the highest branch,
soaking up all of the sunshine,
bright red and juicy
enough for one man
to finally pick
and take home
instead of leaving me
to rot on the ground
in the shade.
At least the worms like me.