Sinaloa
March 26 2023
This well-travelled tomato
arrived from Mexico
on a long train journey
having seen more of the world
than me.
An appetizing red,
but hard, tasteless, odourless.
Clearly, it has not travelled well
in its bulk container
from the industrial fields
of Sinaloa.
I think of August;
hot sun
and luscious tomatoes
that smell of summer
weighing down the vine.
The first bite
into a fat red ripe one.
A burst
of sweet savoury juice
dribbling down my chin,
the earthy scent
filling my head,
the pulp
toothy, but giving.
And this sorry specimen
after coming so far.
I gaze out
at the snow covered garden
and feel impatient.
Reflect
on the season of rest
and dormancy.
On all good things
in the fullness of time.
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