Better Apples

This poem begins with the image of a red apple, one bite taken, the apple left on a kitchen counter to create mystery that might be resolved in the last line. It has an introspective speculation that existential nihilism is creeping into suburban bourgeois consumerism and an unexpected turn to global warming at the mention of melting glaciers and polar icecaps. Might as well decry assault rifles and mass shootings, gender and racial inequality too, and every injustice it can think of. Throw everything into the pot, with dashes of angsty seasoning as if the poem could boil its way to a society reformed, legislating the world in its unacknowledged way, as if apples could keep the doctor away and save the fucking universe.