Friday, May 21, 2010


If I were a poet, and I'm most assuredly not, my first, best, and last poem would not be to maiden fair nor fish or fowl, but to the delectable tomato...The names Big Boy, Black Crim, Mortgage Lifter,
Box Car Willy, whimsical maybe, but after having tasted these varietals their names provoke a taste memory. I remember being eight or nine, with a salt shaker from our kitchen and going next door to the neighbor's garden, eating so many tomatoes that I was sick, both parents irate and the neighbors just shaking their collective heads.That's why my tomato garden is behind a six foot tall fence. It's not the pool the fence guards, but the precious love apples.

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