pear watching
Every day last summer I watched
For pears, and every day I found
Just one. If the weather was good,
I could see the grain of its flesh
And catch a whiff of its green smell.
As pears go, it was pitiful:
Bruised before it could leave the tree,
Ugly, not at all endearing.
But that tree tried so goddam hard
You have to respect it. Have to.
Did you produce a pear last year?
See, that’s what I thought. So what if
The fruit was small or fell early
Or was eaten clear through by worms.
It just shows that worms have good taste.
That tree will try again, and again,
For it has proudly made a pear:
Mangled, but a pear nonetheless.
[April 2020]