NO SUCH THING AS FREE FRUIT

It’s August in Jersey, the peaches in A&P are

piled sky high in a pyramid and I have to laugh

when I see the boxes, me and the fruit are from

the same hometown and I’m reminded of summer

driving down Fayette Street, past old fairgrounds

onto Cubby Hollow Road into the flattest part of

the state where you’re surrounded by orchards.

Past Trench Road, I’m tempted like Adam and Eve in

the story from Mrs. Garrison’s Sunday School class.

I pull my little green Mustang over to the shoulder,

take a few steps towards the sagging branches and

know that the fruit will never taste better than this,

the second week in August. Lucky for me, there’s

no sign of workers, all I hear is a bobwhite’s call.

Suddenly an angry man descends a wooden ladder

propped against a tree twenty yards off the road.

I don’t know what he’s yelling, I’m guilty, I run away

fearing an axe handle, a shot gun, or the biting dogs.

If you ever think about helping yourself on some back

road, remember it always seems like no one’s there

in the trees, but they’re working and watching you.