Devouring Cold Watermelon in This Anonymous River Town

Big, oblong, and mottled green,

flat and faded yellow on the bottom

where they’ve sat in the field, heavy with promise –

they wobble in the back on the drive home

and respond with a ripe ‘crack’ as they’re sliced open.

You can eat a car trunk full of all that water and fiber;

fill up for a few calories and practice wild gluttony.

The land never felt so generous as you gaze across those green orbs

in a hazy summer field  wavering in the sun.

And as the juice dribbles from your lips onto the thirsty soil,

you know it’s true that only a fool

would pass by this area’s fine, vine ripened produce.

In a river bottom town,

half a watermelon should sit in the fridge

nearby a dozen cold beers, or you simply

do not have the supplies to be neighborly.

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