Watermelon
Fool Me Once
Forty-one minutes
to the grocery store.
Hand in hand,
we walk there
not saying much.
A grain of sand
has hitched a ride
inside my sneaker.
Too lazy to stop,
too much trouble
to take it off.
Seven more minutes.
I can live with that.
First, the pharmacy
for my husband’s blood pressure pills.
Then ice cream cones,
buy one, get one free.
Two each.
A can of treats
for our little pest
goes in the basket too.
A six-dollar
watermelon.
“You sure about this,
Mr. Muscles?”
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The grocery bag
heavier now,
we make our way home,
sometimes one ahead,
sometimes the other.
Wisps across the sky.
A spiderweb
between the leaves.
Today,
somehow,
it all feels
just right.
I had no idea.
Cut open,
the watermelon
is full
of those same
pale wisps.
A dud.
All water.
No taste.
