Red

Once upon an un-moonlit evening
A rosy red apple of undetermined origin
Regarded themselves with distortion
Courtesy of the polished spoon before it

"Oh
But I wish I were rounder
And much redder
With a bit more stem up top

No green shading over there
And no half dimple right here
To be shed of this shelf life wax coating
A perfect little apple would I be"

But the apple sat just the same
Not changing for the wishing
Nor for the better
For anything else

Instead turning a bit more brown
With every passing day
Inside becoming a strange sort of mush
The rosy red outer skin all that held the general shape