Homegrown Tomatoes

(In Memory of William Lafayette “Fadie” Stinson)

Huge as only memories can be
Red as a cartoon fire truck

Or Superman’s billowed cape—
I see Fadie’s sharp Old Timer

Halving those bright globes
Again and again into slices

Thick as homemade hamburgers
Or Arkansas’ August air.

With salt shakers and short forks
We stormed that storied platter,

Left nothing but pink larval pulp
And a few faintly yellow seeds.

No fruit since then has been
So terrible in its beauty,

The beauty of dying summer
Melting on hungry tongues.