Old Roses

He always sounded broke
underlined those words
on yellow legal paper
back then everything shined
not like now all sunsets
breathing machine
worn-out chairs back steps
out to the long driveway
lined with old rose bushes

The Apples

Our love. Vinegar. Leaves.
So sweet everything
a small disintegrating mess. Nothing
apparent the next day
ghost of it this
thing ruining the grass.
Not really seen
as necessary.
Except by me. Of course
so much extra. So
there are leftovers.
So what.