The Seven Deadly Sins (IV)

My Neighbour’s Pears


I’m looking at green
blossoming down one side
of his mouldy
black-fingered tree
thinking
that those softly-rouged bottoms
have no right to be
so perfectly pear-shaped.

I'm looking for an axe
of a north wind to blow,
or a deftly-looped rope
to pull, to pin me
under those sugared skins
tumbling
like dulcimer hammers

Onto my side of the fence.

Ah, listen -
there’s his young wife
singing.




ms2006