On this moonless October night
I sneak into Farmer Greg’s orchard
the sour sweet odor of rotting apples
the squish under my boot
He and his musket should be asleep
but the hounds might catch my frightful scent
I load a gunny sack and absquatulate
to my flinty acre — root cellar close to empty
Stolen apples make a decent cider
to leave out when the snow drifts ’round my cabin
chip away the ice to reveal the bitter joy
the very marrow of this life
(For today’s Living Poetry Prompt and Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt.)
About Bartholomew Barker
Bartholomew Barker is an organizer of Living Poetry, a collection of poets in the Triangle region of North Carolina where he has hosted a monthly feedback workshop for more than decade. His first poetry collection, Wednesday Night Regular, written in and about strip clubs, was published in 2013. His second, Milkshakes and Chilidogs, a chapbook of food inspired poetry was served in 2017. He was nominated for a Pushcart Prize in 2021. Born and raised in Ohio, studied in Chicago, he worked in Connecticut for nearly twenty years before moving to Hillsborough where he lives and writes poetry.
Bartholomew Barker, Poet 
Really enjoyed the imagery and the ending is excellent! Nice job with absquatulate, too. 😁
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Thank you, Michele. Sammi sometimes comes up with arcane prompt words.
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Welcome, Bart. I’ve noticed that. 🤓
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Well done. :-)
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Thank you, Bill.
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Love this poem. My dad always said that the best watermelon was a stolen one. :) (He lived during the depression.)
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Thanks, LuAnne! Strange how theft increases sugar content. Must be something about the gettaway…
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The sweetness of the thrill!?!
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That must be it.
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This is a delightful fiction. Well done
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Thanks, JM!
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