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.