Crab apple
Sideways in my view
I see you
And all your other mates
French golden delicious
Ooh-laa-di-daa
Coxes indeed
In the supermarket
Interloping with the fruit
When you have ‘pips’
Whatever the fuck they are
And are hard
Hard
What sort of fruit is hard?
None, that’s what
You’re a vegetable
Not even a nice one at that
One of those winter types
Found in stews
And soups
Not even eaten
But slurped off a spoon
Like a drink, not food
So not even either
Fuck off, apple
False fruit-food pretender
Fuck off unless
Fermenting to cider

Please note: cider in the UK (from where I hail) is not the mere ‘apple juice’ it is in North America (where I live). No, instead it is a drink of high alcoholic content; so much so that when in its most authentic form (scrumpy) it is only sold in half pints, which for North American readers isn’t many ounces at all. Indeed, the term ‘half pint’ is generally used as an insult (in which respect it isn’t insinuated the ‘half pint’ contains scrumpy, but something far weaker like apple juice instead).

Fruits of the Loon:

• Tangerine
• Lime
• Apple (you are here)
• Banana

Other posts/poetry relating to food and drink:

• Patience & the Coffee Maker
• Saucy Sally
• What We Feed Cats & Why It’s Far from Purrfect
• Animal Crackers
• Planet Caramel

Thanks for reading 

N. P. Ryan

Donations/tips are super appreciated; they can be made via paypal.me/TipNPRyan. 

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