sweet cherries

when they went away for a day or
two
we'd climb the black cherry
tree on the corner
and like monkeys
scramble up and through,
to eat our fill.
our skinny arms and legs
would hardly
bend the tender
branches.
we'd stuff our mouths,
our pockets,
the white t-shirts
stained with the blood
of stolen fruit.
we'd spit the seeds
at one another
with glee.
we ate until we ached.
dropping down the trunk
when the car turned the corner
the owners returning,
coming into view.
two summers we raided
that fat sweet cherry tree
before they took it down
with cruel strong swings
of a silver axe.