There’s a cherry tree by the surgery
Its crushed cherries on the pavement floor
A sweet cherry-red smashed on the street
A red massacre of dark balloon juice
Mashed and crushed beneath our feet.
There’s a cherry red anger outside the surgery,
A bleeding on the bone of paving stone
A dry stained sludge of red cherry juice
Poor people tread them down with disdain
Into the concrete with worsening pain.
There’s a cherry tree growing outside the surgery
Where clusters of cherries queue for cures,
Hunched over, scurrying; scowling and worrying
Indifferent to anyone’s pain but their own
A sluice of red juice by the surgery door.