Leftovers

There's a house down the street that sits on the corner guarded by a large fence in the shape of an L.

Right outside the fence on their lawn is an orange tree. A big beautiful orange tree.

I go walking sometimes and pass the tree, take in its vibrancy and keep on going.

Somedays I'll jump up, grab hold of one, tug my way down and keep on going.

Other days there's fallen oranges and if they're near, I'll pick one up and keep on going.

The other day I noticed many oranges had fell and some of them were rotten.

A wasted orange was a wasted opportunity.

I wanted to bring a bag over and pick all the oranges I could, leaving many leftover.

There's a large window behind and beside the orange tree that feels like a watching eye.

Sometimes I feel like a criminal.

That I'd have to explain in court that there were just so many extra... going to waste... it only *made sense* to gather and give them away to people without any oranges.