i’m afraid to say i’ve swallowed an apple seed
and now it’s growing its roots in my belly. i believe

that the trunk will run straight up through me
until i have a wooden spine and ribs of solid oak.

i think the seed will grow, and make branches
in my lungs till it pokes holes in the chambers

of my heart. i’ll become a common topiary, a little
sapling amongst others and soon leaves and

blossom will sprout from my nose. doctor says
not to snack on soil, if i can help it, but mummy

laughed so i think there is no proper cure and i cried
in the car as we turned the junction and she turned

to me and said that we’ll go around and round
until my pip falls out and i’m just a little pot again.