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Tasting Summer
At the side of the road
the sign reads peaches.
I buy a small basket
of five and devour one,
too hungry to wait
until I return to the Chevy.
From this basket of
temperate goodness
comes the taste of summer days, dusty juice flowing
like rain between my
fingers. In the golden,
sunny meat of this fruit is mother’s peach cobbler,
chunky slices tossed
beneath dough, the flakiest crust emerging from the oven. From this summer basket
comes amber-hued
evenings dripping
with the succulence
of peach filled days.
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