At The Fruit Stand

I stop by the roadside,
lured by bushel baskets angled seductively
towards traffic; their depths filled with color.

I lift an apple here, prod a cantelope there;
my hands heft a honeydew up so I can see
if too many hands have bruised its yellow skin.
A misspelled sign that reads "Hep Yoursef" waves
above a flat of summer plums gone too soft to sell.

A cardboard box of peaches
sits by itself at the end of the basket row,
the scent of it wafts thick on a scant breeze.
The vendor, a young boy, motions that I take one-
"Try 'er, mister; there's none sweeter..."

So I pick one, its soft fur tickles my palm.
Yellow gone to orange gone to red, ripe for the eating,
it holds the shape of my fingers in its flesh
the way heat-reddened skin holds the blanch.

I bring it to my mouth, feel the soft shell of it pop
under my teeth, a surrender of warm meat and pit.
I bend forward, fruit cupped in my hand- its juice runs
between my fingers, lays like honey on my chin.
I lick them clean, my tongue sweet against my skin-

Should I ever love a man, it will taste like this.


Lewis Hardin said...

This is the most provocative, seductive piece of work (WITHOUT being trashy)that I have had the pleasure of reading in quite some time...kudos!

beckyboop said...

Whoo woo, I want me some peaches!

Becky :)

JimmyJames said...

kudos here also. Excellent piece. I love it.

dsnake1 said...

hi LetterShaper,
glad i came to your site. you have some intense pieces here.

i just love this piece here. esp. the last line. :)

i'll be back for more, there's for sure.

Bluesky_Liz said...

Yeah, me too.

I like this poem the most among the others on this page. Vivid, and quite delicious. ;)