by Don Mager
Heat sticks to the skin and calls out to
mosquitoes to plant miniature
dollops of inflammation. Its breath
is humid like oven steam. Its weight
sinks down to deep lung sacks and stifles
oxygen. Between five fingered broad-
leaf shade, gaps aim direct hits of sun
at expectant figs. It plumps them up
like juicy dumplings. It unstitches
small seams in their purpling pink skin
to ooze out syrupy slow dollops.
Best served chilled and sliced with morning toast
and coffee, they stew sweetness. Their stems
drip milk that sticks on fingers. Pluck them.
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How far away September's warmth seems today!
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