I waited too long and the fruit was overripe
I wonder if people go out of season too
Or do we just fall from the tree rotten one day
Having already reached our best taste
Did the sweetest of myself peak long ago in some premature spring
Or am I too worried about success to see it rolling toward me
Peaches don’t grow in the city
Not much from the kingdom plantae does
But the tide grows
It’s under our feet and our manmade ponds and our centuries old port cities
European settlers wanted new places and trade routes
Slowly the ocean reaches back with gentle revenge
It’s rising to reclaim an estuary disturbed before we were born
Slowly but surely all of us will be out of season
I’m just not sure when that will be