They looked like they would
drip down our chins
while we savored their sweetness.
Ripe and full.
So we plucked them,
until a purple blush streaked our fingers.
“We’re lucky,” I said,
“to find such a hoard;
our own treasure-trove.”
But things took an unexpected turn.
All that fruit was poisoned.
“They sprayed it, long ago,” you told me.
“How are we to tell treasure from toxin?”
I wondered if we should consult a medic.
“These times are risky,”
“No one knows a
berry from a time bomb.”
Still, we hope to find real wealth among the hedgerow.
Copyright © 2019 Bridget Webber. All rights reserved