The gnarled tree is a presence
Standing back from the tiled walkway
Between the sun-baked paving stones and the pool
A loonie a bucket from a madcap uncle
The onslaught of cannonballs ceased and we took to the tree
With the knowledge that if we kept at it we could be rich
Dodging siblings and bees and piling fallen fruit
We dared one another to taste the apple’s bitterness
While a beaten radio sang of sunny days
Imperfect capitalists we’d tire
And dive deep into cool clear waters
