I brought home from the market
a half-dozen peaches
which I kept in a sack
on the counter until soft
beneath the thumb,
put them in the fridge
and on a hot afternoon
sat on the back stoop
and broke the furred skin,
yellow strings wedged in the gaps
between my lower front teeth,
a rivulet of cold juice down my chin.
I ate around the pointed pit,
slowly eating three of six,
the red-veined meat
giving way with a pleasing slurping sound.
The sweetness was complete:
a hint of tart that made me smile.
All the while the sun beat down,
drops of sweat rose on my arms,
ants staggered across bare ground.
Brown earth absorbed every drop of juice.