Hay Fever and Hard Cider

I can't help but start gagging
Gawking between my bite marks.
Seeing a worm segmented, beside itself,
Body cleaved into the shape of a smile,
Dying, it calls out, "Hah. Gotcha fucker."
That's one bad apple.

You'd think things be in season,
Everything be'd ripe but it's rotten.
Fruit once fresh now among bugs and dirt,
It's being consumed by a new customer
Shoplifting from the source.
Designed for us, but claimed by the creator
--Orchard economics are pretty fickle.

It's not just the rot and horseshit the flies swarm for.