Helped ourselves to the trees in the orchard.
Macintosh, red, crisp and sweet, with the perfect tart bite.
Made bags from our shirts and ate as many as we could.
Mother wouldn’t let us go back there.
Rumor was the farmer had put salt in his shotgun.
And he was looking for young apple thieves.
Sometimes you get into mischief just for fun and it can turn dangerous. Salt buckshot won’t kill you, but it hurts like hell.