Riffing on comments that farmer’s markets began to save the many California peaches who had lived to need a grave.
I bit into its fuzzy skin
And drank the local fruit’s nectar,
The flavors were stacked neatly in
Their beautiful, warm protector,
But then I bit the pit within,
Its stone cold, lifeless, hard sector –
The seed that made the fruit so sweet
Which now rots slowly as I eat.