The Elberta ripens
thinned by ground squirrels—
dogs bark at night:
raccoons down from the hills.
I have lost my car again
trapped in another strange place
without friends, backtracking
in my dreams to rise
in the dark, fumble
for a light too bright
to find my way outside
to follow the dogs with a rifle
to the gate beside the peach tree.
No eyes burning in the black,
barking fades out of range,
I am now awake
and wonder what it takes
to save a peach,
or why we bother—
other than its taste.
drycrikjournal 