Shall I compare you to the squash of summer?
You are rounder, more colorful, and tasty.
Slugs leave shiny threads of slime—a bummer—
On pale misshapen impotent squash while pasty
Blossoms shrivel on their tips in midday sun,
And stick disgustingly to yellowing flesh.
Their unkempt vines creep nightly through the lawn
And over the deck, creating a tangled mess.
But your red beauty only serves to heighten
My lust, Tomato, temptress of my tongue.
Since summer squash grows pallid as you brighten,
It’s to your luscious bod’ my song is sung.
Store-bought tomatoes, reddened off the vine,
Can never match sun-ripened globes like thine.
© by CJ Muchhala.
Used with the author's permission.
|Purchase a framed print of this poem.
CJ Muchhala, when she’s not reeling in poems, writes stories for her grandchildren, creates photo-ops for her shutterbug husband, and dispenses unsolicited advice to her patient sons. Her work has been featured in poetry/art exhibitions and published in anthologies and print and online journals. CJ lives in Shorewood, Wisconsin.
There are no comments for this poem yet.