Poetry by Matt Jones
He cranks the wheel
Hands slick with juice
The apple grinder squeals with every turn
Desperate for a drop of oil
I bounce on the wobbly stool
Dropping Macouns in-two at a time
Sweat gathers under his chin
Dripping from silver whiskers
“Your mother laughed like that.”
Yanked into consciousness
The scent of cider lingers and
I ache to share the details with you
About the Poet
Matthew Jones lives in Massachusetts where he practices law. When not spending time with family and friends, he fronts the band, Col. Pike & The Expedition. His work appears inThe Worcester Review.
Vita Brevis Press. 
Wow
I’m in there with you, Matt. My hands are sticky from the cider.
Great memories of days in the orchards 😊
Bittersweet nostalgia, lovely Matt!