Poem: Inspiration for an Apple Poem

I lay against the fence, eating a solitary apple.

Behind it is a run-down building,

With faded bricks and a pallid chimney rising out of it.

The yard’s is as unkept,

A mixture of giant dandelions, grasses and garbage.

There is but nothing but a bent-over tree, an exotic for this area.

It had sun-dapple leaves, bark marred like scales,

Low slender branches that stoop over the wild field and sway in the wind like vines.

Dead leaves fall from it like tears.

Small birds sing in its frail shelter, singing birds with black breasts.

Pigeons peck in the brown earth,

Their foolish gray eclipsed by night feathers.

Discarded plastic bags billow like butterflies.

In the smell of mulch and dead stalks, I created this poem:

The Earth’s an apple.

The top and bottom curves are the north and south poles.

The seeds are the core’s metal.

The flesh is magma.

The skin is the surface,

The eaten parts are oceans.

The world’s an apple.