The hot days and cool nights marked
by garden tiger lilies and roadside rogues
and early cherry tomatoes that I pick
and eat here in my shaded chair –
book, pencil, paper, iced tea, these words.
I picked apples and the last tomato,
but there are still plenty in stores.
And they will be there all winter,
but my brain and body knows it’s
apple time and some things are ending.
Mutual pleasure in the tomato that slips
off the vine at the lightest pull,
red, ripe and ready, a slight softness.
Cherry-sized fruit with no scent of nightshade,
only summer sunlight bursting on the tongue.