khaki pants, held
up by
a stretch of twine,
i see him
kneeling in the mud
with his
tomato plants.
his rough hands working
the prickly
stems.
it's
a square of earth
beside
the ac unit, with chicken
wire staked
around.
how many tomatoes
has he grown
in the last
thirty-five years?
who knows.
but i know when i arrive
for my summer
visit, he'll have a grocery
bag full
of them.
his vague love,
shown on the vine.
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