Misfits

 

A Pear in the Apple Orchard
A shape like no other
Neither crisp nor round
and nobody’s brother,

 

Outnumbered and lonely
was me against them
yet each of us fruit
we all have a stem,

 

How did this happen
I can’t be a spy
I wouldn’t be good
In anyone’s pie,

 

Just hanging around
In the warm summer sun
Questioning why
My numbers are one,

 

It doesn’t seem fair
And sort of unreal
I believe I have value
I still have appeal.

 

 This poem feels awkward and bumbling
as if it were out of place
like it was in some orchard of poems that were
all rhyming and ripe.