8/30

When you love a Tomato, the produce section becomes more exciting

Roma's skin isn't as firm as it used to be, the soft red I once knew is now wrinkled, brown and bruised. She seems to sense my trouble with her taste, the newfound foulness of her oozing juices. She lies in the crisper sleeping, dreaming simple vine dreams.

With a fresh garden of stuble and an overripe gut, the market is a gallery called "Things you can't have." I stare at Roma's ripe relatives, the sweet yellow of her curious cousins. I gawk at the cherries and their meager frames, wonder how much of my weight they could handle, how long it will take to notice me staring. Even crispy Videllia is looking better, and if I could only wash away her soupy stink or grow 10 years younger, I would peel away her crumbling yellow clothing and indulge in the sweetness of her layers.