For all I know, she has a different name now. Either way, I’m no longer in contact with her (which is too bad because she was a spitfire Back Then and I can only assume her fire still has a lot of spit in it).
Here is the poem she wrote:
Plump and juicy the apple sits
Upon the window sill.
Mount-watering as the sunlight flits
Over its deep red peel.
I reach down toward this glowing fruit
So round and smooth and firm.
With anticipation I am mute
So I bite; and find a worm.
By E. Hopkins
Now you know why she and I were friends.
Here’s to an infestation-free day.