apples.

you would think
it would crunch
underfoot;
but instead,
the onomatopoeia
brought to mind:
“smoosh.”

because i had
this apple.
it was solid,
no bruising,
shiny and crisp.
slightly tart,
but overall sweet.

i dropped it;
and you saw.
you saw
what it meant.
so you salvaged
my apple;
dusted, and washed it.

then what?
where did you
put it?
like a game
i never asked
to play.
you gave it away.

i looked up
at you;
staring always
from above.
seeking a reason
for this treachery:
“i hate apples.”

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