The muffins you baked for me
Last week grew mold.
I figured with preservatives and all,
I needn’t worry,
But I was wrong –
About baked goods and everything else.
About children crying in department stores, and
Toddlers that throw their plates off the table.
About what it feels like to live far away from your parents,
And about why some families ignore each other.
Wrong about how mailboxes are stuffed to exploding with
Empty envelopes begging for my eyes, mind, and body.
But I won’t let them touch me, not even my hand.
Because, like I was saying, my instincts are all wrong.
About the elderly tree, fenced in, smack dab in middle of the park,
Its gnarled branches stooping with age.
Roots deeper than anyone in this small town, and yet
Little dogs lift their leg to urinate on it.
I also missed it with the orange tree across the street.
Lost in thoughts of whether or not plucking the fruit hanging over the
Fence was sinful, or if the citrus transitioned to public property
When careless neighbors dangled them in my face.
Does anything belong to anyone when everyone is selling everything?
Still. You gave time and energy to those muffins, but
I missed that window because
I was too busy climbing out mine, heading toward
Forbidden fruit that I refused to stare at for one more day.