Hidden behind the bruised oak was a pulsing heart.

A timid lad in hand me down faded jeans named Art.

A man red in face was gazing toward the old tree.

With pockets bulging with airheads and smarties free

After looting penny candy when none saw him,

Art came to inescapable surmise quite grim.

Either face red faced owner or his frazzled mom.

Decisions Which one. He’d rather get slapped with palm