POETRY – FFFC #326

Have you ever had watermelon rain seeds?
I wonder if the seeds hurt?
or do they feel like gentle kisses
rejuvenating you every drop

Like the sky had a snack,
then sneezed.

A green crescent moon with juicy breath
spitting polka-dots from the fruit dimension—
plop plop plop—
onto my hair, into my shoes,
down the back of my shirt. (Rude.)

Each seed whispers:
“Grow me or trip on me, your choice.”
One tried to start a podcast.
Another’s running for mayor of the compost bin.

The clouds wore rind.
The thunder was squishy.
Lightning peeled itself.

And I just stood there,
arms open, mouth wide,
catching cosmic snacks from the snackosphere.

This wasn’t weather.
This was a dessert emergency.
And I was deliciously unprepared.

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