smashed apples

i look through the screen door. the dirt is full of smashed apples. they fell off the tree weeks ago. the landlord didn't pick them. i didn't either. now they rot in the weeds. nobody gets anything out of it but the flies. big green ones crawling on the split skins. sucking the fermented juice. getting fat and drunk on the waste. i finish my coffee. a grey cat steps on a brown apple. it shakes its front paw and keeps walking.