“Apples” was just an exercise to see if I could write a five-line poem without metaphor or hyperbole, except for in the final line. Something funny happens when you limit yourself to making flat observations, and then you sneak in a burst of figurative language. You end up sounding like you’re cracking a joke or being profound, when you’re simply ceasing to sound flat.
Apples
When there’s fruit
There will be flies. The
Truth comes as I wash
My hands above a sink,
Infested with activity.
I love that! I try to write sometimes without metaphor, I feel it makes a better result.