Tasting the Fruit

Envy may be a watermelon skin,
long-stripped and flowing in the veins
of a woman, but all things start
with a little seed. Your winter in Hershing
plowed earth and sprung root.
Maybe the cold dug into your bones
before you left. Maybe, you two just
had to be one. Either way, you came home
to find me ready. Don't worry—
I pulled out the black dress early,
won't even stray a foot in my walk-bys
if the townsfolk say Who would have thought
the old man had so much blood in him?