Poetry
Where We Stand
M. A. Roberts
Sounding
not so sweet the blue bird
mocks our bickering
The weeping tree
lithe
The porch even seems hunkered down
with our weight June apples
we were too lazy to protect
rot on
bird-pecked
eaten thru The worms
are gone
but holes remain and a dying
The yard is all you see It is October
where
we
stand