: phrozen pen

I still taste syrupy flesh
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

book against my thigh, I
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