and sometimes why?

 

I’m not sure for whose benefit they put windows in a hearse.  We already know what’s inside, and they can’t possibly look out.

Actual poem starts here.

I saw the apple
red with stars
hanging by a stem,
On tippy-toes
my fingers rose
and held
this luscious gem,
I let my weight
shift quickly back
and held
the apple tight,
But snapped it not
and there I hung
for hours
through the night,
I spun and twisted
left then right
and shook my weight around
at finally dawn
this apple-Mac-n-toshed
me on the ground.