Such small worlds,
one inch, maybe two,
red as a tiny Mars
or yellow; a flaring sun.
My taste buds explode,
tartness painting a
startled tongue, fleshy
pulp, sour and sweet
rides an umami wave
plunging down my throat.
I am eating summer,
offspring of a green
boned vine. Luscious orbs,
popping, until my stomach
gurgles no more—no
more—no more tomatoes.
has been writing poetry for 30 years. His poems may be found, or are forthcoming, in 21 different reviews, most recently: Verse-Virtual, Poetry Life and Times, Black Poppy Review, Trouvaille Review, and Last Stanza Poetry Review. His writing credits include ten years as a columnist for American Angler Magazine. Hobbies include running, music, fishing, gardening, and cooking.
Bio and writing at, respectively:
www.garygrossman.net and
https://garydavidgrossman.medium.com/
