Bull Under A Peach Tree

By a dirt road an orchard’s remnant
stands in a pasture’s corner and produces
an old crop. Alluring pink blouses
on the breeze draw careless insects.

The blouses have long shed their fragrance
and dropped onto the moss bed,
leaving bulging-belly fruit basking in sun
until they too lose their grip.

I sit under the tree and watch a bull
glean the fallen fruit, the sweetest
with a tang of fermentation