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