By Mabh Savage

Caught red handed,

Well, purple really,

Juice dripping down

Guilty chin.

Bucket half full

Promising wine, crumbles, pies;

All lies

If I don’t stop eating them

Along the trail.

These jewels are not just mine

I share them with

Doves, pigeons, blackbirds

Lon Dubh shouting

As I invade

His sacred space.

So I leave enough

To feed the feathered folk

Even knowing this means

Imminent purple plopping

On the bonnet of my

Long suffering vehicle.

Dodging nettles

Spiky brambles

Benevolent thorns

They take my juice

As I seek theirs.

Caught red handed

Purple hand gang

States the seven-year-old

As we fill our chests

With treasure.