Norfolk biffin
The best ones have gone.
None wasted in that poor season,
every apple picked and stored,
even those fit only for compost
in times of plenty.
I’m down to the last box.
In good years, after a blitz
of crumble, chutney, strudels,
puddings, there’d be a stock of
crisp full-bellied fruits, mellowing
from yellow to deep maroon,
sweet enough to eat.
In semi-gloom I fumble each:
the scrawny, shrivelled,
loose-skinned, scabby, hairy,
bruised, the gone quite bad
that squelch to mush or vanish
in a waft of mouldering dust.
Pushed to a corner there’s
one still firm to touch. It lies
in my palm, embryo-curled,
calyx twisted upwards
to meet the dimpled apex
round its stalk.
Had bees fumbled pollination?
Was its flowering flawed?
Did it press too close against
the branch as it was forming?
Turned over, it looks perfect.
Teeth sink into flesh.
Norfolk Biffins are good cooking apples which store well. Gradually they turn dark red, with sweeter, more solid flesh. By March they can be eaten as dessert apples.