bad fruit

I see her
out of the corner
of my eye.
walking.
alone.
strident as if
she had a plan,
to which I know
she has none.
I stand still
for a moment, as she
passes across
the street,
not seeing me.
I feel nothing
but the cold cloak
of sadness.
I still taste
the bitterness of
bad fruit in my mouth,
but relieved
that there will
no longer be
anything in my life
coming off
that tree.