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Shakespeare's Monkeys

Infinite Monkeys. Infinite Typewriters.

May 16, 2025  

More in The Personal Space of U668857

Pruning

Bramley's ripe for gravity's thump,

hanging hard and pendulous,

thud from hacked boughs - 

I'm cutting back, inviting light

to wash the window-wide murk.

Wasps suck the fallen

shriveled globs of wrinkled rot.

Ripe with purpose, ladder-high,

I chop through leafy summers.

It's the pricking holly that stings

though I recall her apple pie

topped with cut-out leaves of pastry.





 
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