Fifth Column Poem by Jean Bernard Parr

look! how they pour over the wall
look! they are coming to shake the tree
with eyes that sparkle at the lustre
of this still-hanging hoard, even
fruit on the ground looks perfect and round
hot fingers stub and stroke, throw sticks
to get the last ones down, shouts of glee

but this night when the moon creeps
and her bright blade touches the lumber
in the yard, the tiny mite will set to work
beneath the heavy tangled cider-slumber
and in the morning unseen,
burrows into the bruised skin
to quietly deliver ruin within