Braeburn

~

there’s a place I often pass,

where a half-eaten apple core

the remnants of a hasty

working lunch has been

tossed wantonly through

the window of a passing 

car, taken root and left

ten years undisturbed,

buried beneath other 

myriad roadside detritus,

today, on an uncut verge 

beside the busy A422, 

stands a perfectly shaped

magnificent Braeburn

laden with plump ripe fruit, 

never harvested, a proud

crimson beacon amongst 

the dowdy bracken.

*

© GRS 12/25