God I wish I was a lush tomato—
Amish Paste, Early Girl, Jaune Flammee,
or better yet, that sexy Italian heirloom,
Pantano Romanesco, cheeky queen
of the summer garden. I’d lean
to leggy but under your grow-light,
my round, ribbed fruits would shimmer
and glare no more than eighty days
for a hungry mouth like yours.
So put me in your most fertile bed.
Keep me wet because I warn you:
under extreme heat, my blossom drops.