I walked with him, hand in hand. We shared a ripe, red apple
we found on a neighbor's tree, each taking a bite after the other. Earl, our
street's homophobe, must have snapped when he saw the apple. It was from his
yard, though I didn't know it at the time. Mom said the ride to hospital was
only five minutes, but I counted days. The doctors removed the splinters of the
bat, but he doesn't recognize me anymore. He doesn't recognize anyone. Yet any
day of the week, a ripe, red apple sits nearby his hospital bed.
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