stolen fruit

with your knuckles
you tap
the side of the large
striped
green watermelon.
you are a watermelon
expert.
you used to steal
watermelons as a kid
from St. Elizabeth's
farm near the river,
where you'd fish with
the other boys. in
the summer heat you
were barely strong enough
to run with one
cradled in your arms,
dashing through
the furrows of
the thick field.
and now
as you stand
in the grocery store,
tapping this melon,
the memory of those
days comes back
as sweet and luscious
as the bites were
from that stolen fruit
so long ago.