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Evan Kramer

Six feet from life and death anewShe bobs there in the wind.What fate awaits her, sauce or stew?Or maybe toothpick-pinned?Th’affection of her father’s eye,Her story’s great provider,Suggests perhaps a life of pieOr possibly of cider.Sweet sweat inside she drips and drools,Just out of children’s reaches;Her core she flaunts in middle schoolsWhile her young mistress teaches.Even though her death’s uncertain,Her fall is quite assured.She lands next to her opening curtain,Her story still unheard.