Binging On Bings
Summertime,
in the hot valley,
I shimmied up the first few corky feet of the trunk
and climbed into the high canopy of the
colossal cherry tree.
Perched, but cautiously,
on the roof
of Uncle Freddy's garage,
gorging myself on
the flesh of
the large, heart-shaped
fruit.
My trick was to pick a mouthful and
then bite down,
sucking as I did,
a dozen or more
of the deep,
maroon beauties
exploding in my mouth.
Spitting the seeds onto
the roof and
hearing them roll to
hit the metal gutters
at the side of the building
while Mom and
Uncle Freddy
and Aunt Jenny
talked about
grown-up things
below.
I climbed down the tree
my belly full and
my face and hands
stained with the juice
and joy of being
the first to reach the biggest
and ripest
and sweetest
of the tree.
Copyright © Thomas Pitre | Year Posted 2008
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