Ripe Peaches Poem by James McLain
Ripe Peaches
Gently pushing in,
You can feel the juices there inside.
Inside is where you wish and
Long to be.
You have taken a small bite and the
Juice runs down your chin.
Your face you wipe it off with the open
Palm of your left hand.
In the market where you stand the people
Watch.
Monday, March 16, 2020
Topic(s) of this poem: fruit
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4/28/2024 5:34:01 PM # 1.0.0.1119
