| Poem - Newton's Law
Newton’s Law
She appeared
leaning on my door,
tossing up and down
a polished winesap,
the Apple of Discord.
I pause:
Who chose the apple
as the fruit of the fall?
Atalanta’s were threefold:
golden delicious.
Arthur’s misfortune buried him
on the Isle of Apples.
Paris doomed Troy
bestowing on Aphrodite
the fated fruit.
A sinful peel twisting
‘round my finger;
a core, nothing more, remains.
__________________
sweet and sour like a tangerine
fresh like a box of krispy kreme | 
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