Forbidden Fruit

We searched in windfall, derelict and young,
 for flawless apples: most had gone to mold
 and made a brown and sticky pulp among
 trefoil and honeysuckle. We were told
 never to eat crab-apples, to resist
 their succulent green skin and sour meat:
 "they'll make you sick," our mothers would insist,
 but feasting in defiance made them sweet.

We packed them in brown bags and ducked like thieves
 across the field, into the harboring wood
 to share our bounty under sibilant leaves.
 No one got sick. We never understood
 the warning. But from time to time we'd squirm,
 our celebration spoiled by a worm.