A Bedtime Apple
Cold from the icebox
crunching on an apple
sweet and loud, wife tossing
and turning to the core, nerves
half ate, a red apple to turn
brown for a red table sparing
the seeds of a relationship,
long as the woody stem,
that all began as if picked
carried away in that
honeymoon bag to taste
the speckled starry skies
and white as flesh moonlit
nights and summer days
that dissolved too quickly
like cotton candy, always
returning to the bloom the
tree, the religion, Adam
and Eve, the sins committed
for a gallon of apple juice
thick and rich with pulp.
DANNY P. BARBARE resides in Greenville, SC. His poetry has recently appeared in Gloom Cupboard, Litsnack, and Poor Mojo's Almanac. He lives with his wife and dog Miley. He has been writing poetry off and on for 29 years and has been published over 400 times.
