Apple Orchard

Apple Orchard

this ain’t a walk

in an apple orchard

stumbling through sunlight here

only warms the mantle

of a damp chill air

that gripped him

in the lyrical wee small hours

this morninglit bridge to and from

daytime’s sun-drenched monotony

against such waylayed sleep

grave dead chill

concrete pillow

and hard wood cold steel bench

bitter stone cranny

offers no creature comfort promise

no whimsical waltz

through fields or meadows

redolent with a hint of springtime

hand gropes through debris

through newspapers

holds fast to a lifetime’s trove

on shopping cart’s quiver

feasted remnants

purchased piece-meal

with foraged generosity

clings tight to futile dreams of lazing

in this apple orchard

craving a world apart

craving some succulent sweetness

of rubescent fruit

hanging high and

out of reach

that 
 changes to green

as street-lit

diesel stench rumble

rattle and hum of days

of the other side in motion

and that once-enticing red orb

signals again

the halt of traffic

his orchard bed still recalls

this soul-cold sidewalk reality

ã2008 Bill Ashwell