So they go on, doing the deeds,
rolling the ball they tossed
as if it were not obvious
they were following
where their eyes aimed.
Like an animal behind a tree,
they think I don't see,
and I am partly to blame
for this charade,
a willing blindness,
suspension of attention,
inescapably-
there is a stench,
as overturned dirt
insists on being known
thereby making its presence
the heaviest air in the room.
And like the elephant Ganesha,
she leans in, the earth tilts,
her trunk drops
an apple at my feet.
It is my choice
to open mouth
desirous of a tree,
or keep the seeds inside...
Photo credit by safaritravelplus [CC0], via Wikimedia Commons.
