Robin Greenfellow An orchard welcomes him, devoid of hoof-wearing duff. Weary of hawkish airs, he treads the kempt rows; analeptic blades administer their balm. For now, the fruit can wait – fescue receives him well enough. He plays cutter, wreathed in fresh clippings, and chips dead bark for compost. But seasons alter, churning turf to crud. Branches sag with autumn’s heft, overbearing their pulp. Crows grow fat on dropped grapes as aphids lay their vanitas. Laddered above, Pomona persists: it cannot all be saved, she says, gather what you can.
Joseph Porter-Bolger is a poet and recording engineer based in Peterborough, UK.
