The Wild Trees on the Edge of Fernan Hill

Green apples hung low
on the trees.
The juice bubbled and
tasted of acid.
I swung my leg up along
a limb and hung
for a moment gathering
a few more.
Reaching upward to the
few tinged in red.
My pockets were stuffed
with baubles
as I swung down. I threw
a half eaten core
towards the wooden fence—
buried in lilac bushes.
The old gray horse came
out in a gallop.
He swerved to the right
whenhe caught sight
of me in his one good eye.
Off he went through
the long grasses. Down the
hillside towards the
thorn bush and gully where
the stream makes
the ground soggy and the
rocks covered in
moss. Miniature earths. My
mother never says,
Green apples give you stomach aches.
She just lets me
eat them. Sour and tart,
I can eat one
after one after one and
watch Buster
the Blind trample the cores.