Them[sic] Apples Don’t Translate, and “That Dog ‘Don’t’ [sic] Hunt”

Them apples

Wind storms through gardens
Shut down quiet branches
leave a dirty bird frantic,
with fruit on the ground

The mockingbirds have not stopped singing
but the one who calms down
understands my thoughts, and
it looks like it will search for a pond
for a mate, or maybe like me
it’s looking for Cindy, yeah

If I learn the mockingbird song
before the next storm, there is a bird chance
that fingers will kick up the dust boards, and

I’ll make the house storm out
like a shocking bird, and I say:
Cindy I’m electric and passionate