I am an apple. I am not made

in China, even though I look a bit

awkward since Eve plunged her

lusty teeth into my peel.

Oranges and blueberries are not

made in China either. They only

differ in size and color.

But still, nobody bites them.

Remembering the relation

between me and the  Norse God

of fertility, oranges insist on my three

or four bleeds.

But, what makes this

fruit pay for my seeds, when hundreds

of fallen apples haven’t

reached higher than ground weeds,

nor have been sent to the cider factory.

I am almost an orange till March 22^nd.

One for all!

I am as blue as a blueberry till March 22^nd.

Integrated and secure!

But from March 23^rd I know I am an apple again,

back to the rusty orchard, with my old

fellow apples, plus a fresh orange or blueberry bush

writing the history of apples in Macedonia,

solving  the North- South question

of “to be or not to be”,  i.e.  Where

did Alexander plant his Great

apple tree?