August Picnic (#29)

August, all ready

Without being readied—

Only the pitching of

Peach pits,

Bruised tomato divots,

Tossed towards

The cherry trunk and

Gobbled up by grass, gone!

Gone, too,

Corn silk,

Garlic skins,

Filament husks,

Carried on the breeze

Through the red bud leaves,

Invisibly eddying,

Cooling bare legs.

A yellow-legged tree frog,

One eye gold,

One pupil-less eye

Platinum,

Fetched, full-handed—

Whitman’s summer,

Onward and outward,

Spread across gingham,

And death is bowls brimming

With plums, pears,

Peaches, tomatoes,

Diced garlic, and hot peppers.