BY JOHN GREY
Copyright is held by the author.
The summer has ripened
the peach crop to the point
where the fruit are overloaded
with their own sweetness.
They bend branches downward.
All eyes are on the ground below.
A fox lingers by.
His coat is red as a struck match.
His eyes are bright in the noon glare.
But nothing here is idle.
The orchard seduces.
The fox stands its ground
as patient as it is hungry.
There’s another factor — the farmer.
He’s as the far end of his crop,
plucking the best of the best
for the coming weekend’s market.
The day reaches high noon.
Sun is everywhere.
The farmer hums his small tune.
The fox eggs on gravity.
One peach loosens.
Then another,
And then thud.
A peach lands.
The fox pounces.
Once again, summer doesn’t just move on.
Here and there, it collapses.
***
John Grey is an Australian poet, U. S. resident, recently published in Midnight Mind, Novus and Abbey. Latest books, Bittersweet, Subject Matters and Between Two Fires are available through Amazon. Work upcoming in the MacGuffin, Touchstone and Willow Review.