Apples [For Cutting]

The pace of summer days is long-gone
And we have to admire it from a distance.
We (that being Randy and me)
Came home from the park
To find grandma at the cutting board
Making big smaller, making good better.

A tug at her apron strings
Brings the handout of Granny Smith,
Cut into four summer moons
And we force-feed ourselves
Until the last one
Is consumed.