the neighborhood cherry tree

we had the cherry

tree

nearly picked clean of cherries

when

the owner came

home.

our pockets and bellies

were full.

but when the car appeared,

the headlights

turning into

the driveway, we froze,

and were still,

not wanting to be seen.

we hung on to the trunk

and branches

of the tree,

whispering to each other

to be quiet.

the man sat on his porch

for an hour smoking,

never saying a word.

and then his phone rang.

he yelled out to us from

his window,

telling us that it was time

for us to leave,

to go home,

it was our mother on the phone.