Green Apple Caper
“Psss’t! Come see at the window. Make it quick!
We’ve raided the orchard that Mr. Clark keeps.
Take all of the apples tied up in this shirt
and hide them in your room ‘case ours is searched.”
“We’ve eaten ‘most a dozen, but saved a shirt full
to sell for a nickle tomorrow at school.
Ma’s sure gonna skin us if he comes around,
griping and sniping ’bout us bein on his land.
He won’t knock tonight though, he’s feeling too slack,
done set his head buzzing with v’nilla extract.”
With these words and laughter, two brothers ran,
crawled back through their window, safely to bed.
We rolled into ours, filled with green apple loot
and stifled our giggles by eating a few/
Morning rose sluggish, but no more than we,
now wishing those apples were back in the tree.
We had to face mama, who flinched in disgust,
and herself, looking sick, waved on the school bus.
She, being inclined toward tonics, and such.
We, knowing her too frequent cure-all for us
now sensed our stomach’s medicinal doom,
wished in vain to outrun that long handled spoon.
Now Ma was well known for creative design
and just wasn’t one to be wasting her time,
so her day was spent cooking, baking and saucing,
green apples grew mountains from cores she was tossing.
She called us to supper from our cozy sick beds.
Each step towards the table filled us with dread.
In the light, our peaked, pale faces turned green,
for the table was spread with a nightmarish scene.
A butter topped cobbler, a platter of fritters,
enough apples to give four bellies the skitters.
Apples in dumplings, on a stick, apple pies,
green apple jelly, and green apple surprise.
There sat sweet apple strudel, baked apples and tarts
and at the end of the table sat old Mr. Clark.