I still taste syrupy flesh
of peach from late-morning Friday
in the Fall-- warm, white
of peach from late-morning Friday
in the Fall-- warm, white
Italian man in peak season at Union Square.
Fingerbreadths of ankles bare,
coffee carts and a fresh pressed
coffee carts and a fresh pressed
book against my thigh, I
have everything with me now--
have everything with me now--
But today I swallow the pit, step over frozen spit
force faith in the impending Thaw and thank
the man who put that peach in my right hand
and in my left: A New, Free, Pharma Pen
and in my left: A New, Free, Pharma Pen
