(for Gail and Amy, with our thanks)

While you two cavort around Greece
(isn’t that what one would do there—
cavort?), we, your exercise buddies,

continue our Tuesday morning
sessions in your backyard. It is
the end of the growing season,

but produce still hangs in
surprising profusion—the fat
grape clusters dangling

like musky purple ornaments,
the green peppers still perky
on their vines. The sprawling

basil runs leggy wild, the bees
still helicoptering from one long
violet stalk of flowers to another,

some angling seductively
groundward. I gravitate toward
the ’maters, kinda weary,

mostly finished. Ah, well,
I must’ve missed them. But wait!
Look up! Tiny red globes gleam

like dangly earrings on a circular
display rack, some still green,
but many ripe for the taking,

which is what you’ve directed us
to do in your absence. We bag-toting
ladies go to our cars for empty bags

to harvest all we like. Anara reaches
high for a pomegranate; Shelley’s
fond of the basil and green beans—

she’s already nibbled a sweet pepper—
and oh, and the grapes. Catherine
plucks some peppers, among other

treats, as does Laurie, who also
liberated some grapes and still has
a butternut squash from last week’s

harvest destined for soup. Joanne:
tomatoes, green beans, peppers,
and one overhanging pomegranate

from the neighbor’s tree. Later,
your photos beam into our phones
from yours in glorious Greece.

I text you and your farmer wife
an image of tomatoes brightening
my green colander, messages from us

all trickling in, we, your exercising
women friends, appreciative of
your kindness that appears in

so many generous forms.