Ahhh, long-awaited summer harvest.
scarlet red California tomatoes…
beckoning like whores winking
and exposing garters on street corners,
but offering only counterfeit love.
Bite me, taste me,
they attempt seduction.
Until relunctently, skeptically, I submit…
Pulpy, fleshy but tasteless.
Unlike the tomatoes in my verdant garden
3000 miles away in the Northeast,
a place I once called home.
Vines sagging, burdened with heavy fruit
dripping with intensely rich flavor,
I can’t help but roll my eyes and moan
relishing the hand-picked juiciness
eaten when plucked, warm as a lover’s touch.
Tomatoes… exploding with the taste of heaven.
Poetry tinged with humor and a bit provocative
in its comparisons.