a pie pan

the landlady never prunes the tree. it dropped its load into the wet yard four days ago. now it smells like cheap wine back here. sick and sour in the tall grass. i should have picked them. but i don't own a ladder. or a pie pan. so the yellow jackets get them. they crawl through the brown mush, getting drunk and mean. they keep stinging the neighbor's dog. the mower will choke on the pulp. i put out my cigarette on the railing. a fat wasp drowns in a bruised core.