They Will Tempt 

 

 

Once a throbbing starts

in the sap of the quince pear,

the tree beside the milk barn

at one corner of the calf lot,

fruit grows from green 

to brown, its brown thick

skin then waiting to burst.

Propelling through 

the pears—a desire

to fall with ripeness.  

 

Don’t bother twisting

their stems, plucking.  Until

they fall of their own accord, 

you’ll find their pithy flesh 

absent of grainy goodness, 

your jaws puckering 

from pears’ revolt.

 

 

 

 

Melva Sue Priddy