Farmers’ Market
Summer sun freckles your shoulders
I follow your cotton dress
Between stalls carrying canvas bags
Soon overflowing with booty from
Our morning expedition
Cauliflower white yellow
And unbelievably purple
Fondled by your whisper long fingers
While choosing the ideal
Head for greedy consumption
Greens mustard collard turnip
Fibrous deep verdant
Leaves that will shrivel
To potent nutrition
With vinegar and fatback
Tomatoes
Firm as your breasts
Red as your lips
On a night out
Drenched in Merlot
Cheese from the creamery west of Chapel Hill
Eggs from Fickle Creek
Beef from Baldwin’s
Honey from Busy Bee
Wine from Benjamin’s
The canvas cornucopia
Spills across our kitchen table
You prepare a lunch
Sharpened with flavors
Purchased mere minutes ago
We eat on the deck
Ignore air conditioning
Feed each other blueberries
With our lips
Reveling in primal nature
The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature 