A Callery pear

This is my story

My parents
Who were they?
I hope they loved me

My latest birthday
I became more deciduous than I was ever meant to be
Brylcreem for my foliage, green
Bespoke tailoring for my branches, weak

I want to tell the story of my life
It is the only I know to tell

This fall,
My leaf turned shiny dark red to scarlet
I realise the grotesquery of my flowers, white
I pick up conversations from the bees
About sweet shops and bakeries
About grated Grana Padano and the aroma of fresh dill

Granite slabs for tombstones
Oak trees for company
But I can't dialogue with a 30-feet statue of Plato
Or the Tanagra figurines at my feet

I'm a marvel
In front of me
Silhouetted bodies pay a ticket
To mourn
They egregiously kiss
The tip of my fruit, inedible

If I could talk
I would tell you my fate
Today I plan to self-immolate