By Linda Ann Strang

After Jack Gilbert 

Scoping out the fattened apples
and snatching QR codes with an iPhone,
Evie, always eager to bootlick, says, in lipstick,
What do you think, Addie, babe? Requiring  

no official arraignment to condemn herself
to death, she proffers in turn Paula Red,
Ginger Gold, Jonamac, Jonagold. Her last ditch:
How about tonight I make tarte tatin,  

or apple crisp? Then, Would you like me to get you
another cup? Careful, take mine. There’s a drip.
Her voice leaping in pitch, she tries to forget
that time she snuck off with fucksome 

Lucifer—Dodge Viper parked in the Johnstone’s
orchard, midnight cigarettes, a demon pretending
his cock’s a rattlesnake to make her laugh.
She stifles a rebel guffaw right now, nearly losing 

it in front of the key limes. Bitching husbands
and fruit can mess with your head, plus
you never know when God might appear pink
aproned on the porch, pie upfront, and eager to snitch. 

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Linda Ann Strang‘s published poetry collections are Star Reverse (2022) and Wedding Underwear for Mermaids (2011). Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Lily Poetry Review, Image, JMWW, Malahat Review, Portland Review, Hollins Critic, and many other fine journals. Linda lives in Gqeberha, South Africa.