Reflections on a Gift of Watermelon Pickle Received from a Friend
Called Felicity

During that summer
When unicorns were still possible;
When the purpose of knees
Was to be skinned;
When shiny horse chestnuts€¨Â*Â*Â*Â*
(Hollowed out€¨Â*Â*Â*Â*Fitted with straws€¨Â*Â*Â*Â*Crammed with tobacco
Â*Â*Â*Â*Stolen from butts€¨Â*Â*Â*Â*In family ashtrays)€¨Were puffed in green
lizard silence۬While straddling thick branches۬Far above and away۬From
the softening effects۬Of civilization;
During that summer--۬Which may never have been at all;۬But which has
become more real۬Than the one that was--۬Watermelons ruled.
Thick imperial slices ۬Melting frigidly on sun-parched tongues
Dribbling from chins;۬Leaving the best part,۬The black bullet seeds,
To be spit out in rapid fire۬Against the wall۬Against the wind۬Against
each other;
And when the ammunition was spent,۬There was always another bite:۬It
was a summer of limitless bites,۬Of hungers quickly felt ۬And quickly
forgotten۬With the next careless gorging.
The bites are fewer now.۬Each one is savored lingeringly,۬Swallowed
reluctantly.
But in a jar put up by Felicity,۬The summer which maybe never was۬Has
been captured and preserved.۬And when we unscrew the lid۬And slice off
a piece۬And let it linger on our tongue:۬Unicorns become possible
again.
John Tobias

Lynn from Fargo > wrote in news:db1a3242-9fe7-4cbe-9be4-
:

> Reflections on a Gift of Watermelon Pickle Received from a Friend


This one is a little bit more reader friendly.......

http://www.cise.ufl.edu/~hsiao/verse/watermelon.html


During that summer
When unicorns were still possible;
When the purpose of knees
Was to be skinned;
When shiny horse chestnuts
(Hollowed out
Fitted with straws
Crammed with tobacco
Stolen from butts
In family ashtrays)
Were puffed in green lizard silence
While straddling thick branches
Far above and away
From the softening effects
Of civilization;

During that summer--
Which may never have been at all;
But which has become more real
Than the one that was--
Watermelons ruled.

Thick imperial slices
Melting frigidly on sun-parched tongues
Dribbling from chins;
Leaving the best part,
The black bullet seeds,
To be spit out in rapid fire
Against the wall
Against the wind
Against each other;

And when the ammunition was spent,
There was always another bite:
It was a summer of limitless bites,
Of hungers quickly felt
And quickly forgotten
With the next careless gorging.

The bites are fewer now.
Each one is savored lingeringly,
Swallowed reluctantly.

But in a jar put up by Felicity,
The summer which maybe never was
Has been captured and preserved.
And when we unscrew the lid
And slice off a piece
And let it linger on our tongue:
Unicorns become possible again.

John Tobias

--
Peter Lucas
Brisbane
Australia


If we are not meant to eat animals,
why are they made of meat?