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.`
Copyright © Patricia Cresswell | Year Posted 2017
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