Summer Apples

Backyard apple tree, Los Angeles 2012

Poem (at night Chinamen jump)

At night Chinamen jump   

on Asia with a thump

while in our willful way   

we, in secret, play

affectionate games and bruise   

our knees like China’s shoes.

The birds push apples through   

grass the moon turns blue,

these apples roll beneath   

our buttocks like a heath

full of Chinese thrushes   

flushed from China’s bushes.

As we love at night   

birds sing out of sight,

Chinese rhythms beat   

through us in our heat,

the apples and the birds   

move us like soft words,

we couple in the grace   

of that mysterious race.

-- Frank O'Hara