Summer Sweet As Watermelon

summer sweet as watermelon few pleasures abide, through all of life. yet, this one thing I know above all, nothing beats and I mean nothing beats, eating watermelon seated on the front porch rail. hot July afternoon ‘round about two o’clock sitting on the front porch rail drumming our heels in sync. boredom rises up like the heat falls down around our shoulders even the shade is just a darker place to sweat. done the hose on the lawn grass stained knees shrivelled fingers. crack! the screen door slams sweet scents drift up behind us as momma puts a tub of ice on the table sitting proud on top of the ringing freeze like red sails on some Arctic sea triangles of fruit glistening wetly. luscious thick slices dark seeds dotting them like freckles then the pale green rind and the skin shiny, marbled. our mouths do the Pavlovian thing we giggle our heels thrumming faster the ice tinkles as it settles in the heat cicadas saw in the trees Momma says dig in, we do licking the juice then biting deep, deep crunch-candy sweet liquid runs down our chins our necks, onto our chests pale pink stains spread out over our skin. a humming bird inspects us hung from invisible wings. there is a certain way of tucking the seeds into my cheek we all do it …… saving them until the last drop on the slice was noisily sucked dry before the next piece at an almost mystically silent sign we shoot those slippery seeds from our lips out across the lawn they arch reflecting the light brown as chestnuts. flying like June bugs into the damp grass.`