If the only apples left in the world
were ‘granny smiths’,
I’d never eat another apple again,
you won’t find them in any of my
apple pies,
Green apples?
not I,
thanks to you
and the enforced
‘granny smith’ years;
they were an organic diet pill
in your twisted mind,
to me they are the essence
of my life with you,
unsatisfying,
cold,
bitter.
Such good use of language. I love the way this poem travels.
Thanks Caitlin 🙂