peach fuzz

Tonight I bit into a peach.
It was supple, wet, and saccharine. 
I tasted the humidity from a summer evening
Swirled with a tinge of saltiness from my sticky, sticky skin.
I smacked my lips and loosened my shoulders
In fruity ecstasy.

Leave it to me to write a poem about food. I’ve filled my head with French, Garrison Keillor, and Geoffrey Chaucer for the evening, all of which are much more fulfilling than the news headlines today:

A Vietnamese woman was charged today for cutting off her husband’s penis.

An 8-year-old Jewish boy was suffocated and cut to pieces, then stashed in a refrigerator.

What is the world coming to?

Tomorrow is D-Day, whether I like it or not. Time to confront the beginning of the end of another chapter. I’m nervous but eager to get it over with. Funny how the world has bigger fish to fry, yet I’m still here complaining about my own small potatoes.

Again with the food metaphors.

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