She stood out in the empty street,
dragging the torn limb of the small plum tree
that grows at the base of Eden lane.
The weight of May rains
on the hard young plums
might have been
too much of a strain.
Or perhaps it was an Amazon van,
Fed Ex truck, or Uber Eats delivery man
Cutting too sharp in reverse.
Tearing the branch from the tree.
The street was hot as a griddle,
but the girl must have been tired
of hanging out indoors.
She moved with the languid,
bored, awkward grace of a teen,
stripping plums off the torn branch.
Tossed them underhanded
like dice at a craps table
to roll down the steep street.
Watched them tumble.
Tore off some more.
Tossed ‘em. Watched ‘em.
Tossed ‘em and watched ‘em.
Sat down on the pavement
With the branch in her lap.
grabbed more. Threw til
the fun wore off or the street
got too hot to keep sitting.
She dragged the branch
back to the edge of Eden.
The plums came to a rest
in the gutter. She left.
