During that summer
When unicorns were still
possible;
When the purpose of knees
Was to be skinned;
When
shiny horse chestnuts
(Hollowed out
Fitted with straws
Crammed with tobacco
Stolen from butts
In
family ashtrays)
Were puffed in green lizard silence
While
straddling thick branches
Far above and away
From the softening
effects
Of civilization;
During that summer--
Which may never have been at
all;
But which has become more real
Than the one that was--
Watermelons ruled.
Thick imperial slices
Melting frigidly on
sun-parched tongues
Dribbling from chins;
Leaving the best
part,
The black bullet seeds,
To be spit out in rapid fire
Against the wall
Against the wind
Against each other;
And when the ammunition was spent,
There was always
another bite:
It was a summer of limitless bites,
Of hungers
quickly felt
And quickly forgotten
With the next careless gorging.
The bites are fewer now.
Each one is savored
lingeringly,
Swallowed reluctantly.
But in a jar put up by Felicity,
The summer which
maybe never was
Has been captured and preserved.
And when we
unscrew the lid
And slice off a piece
And let it linger on our
tongue:
Unicorns become possible again.
John Tobias