I hear that the Pedrick Road fruit stand
has cherries for a dollar a pound,

and instantly, I see myself in the car
heading down there, though

I have perfectly good cherries
in a bowl within reach.

But not for long. It’s June,
cherry time, and they’re falling

off the trees like rubies in this
season of plenty. I forget about

cherry lust every year, but it
hits me like a hot flash as

the temperature crawls toward
the century mark this solstice

weekend. All I want is that
firm succulence, a hint of

tartness deep and indulgent
in the mouth. I pop one in,

swirl it like merlot before
taking the first gentle bite,

uncoupling pit from fruit,
pursing lips for a hearty

ptooie! as the joy of cherry—
summer’s blessed bounty at last—

blossoms on my happy,
happy tongue.