Choose a rotting orchard
where crabapples clot
the grass. The whole
stale afternoon should
smell like beer. Be
careful where you place
your feet; yellow-jackets’
feelers move in those
rust-colored dumps
of apple-meat. Half
an apple could turn out
to be a live ember
in your hand. Pick
the hard, unblemished ones
whose stems stick up
between their cheeks; they’re
worth it. If you get
a green stick with spring
in it and whittle it
to a taper, blunt enough
to make each apple’s skin
pucker with a crackle, foam
as you force it in, you can
really ride them. One
whip of that stick and
wow: you can touch
MacKenzies’ chimney without
trying-ricochet—
or take the shortcut
home over the trees.
How To Throw Apples
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