They say there will be no blueberries this year.
Some say the roots were so badly damaged
that they will never come again. I guess I
believed them. Til you came right up to me
wearing nothing but blueberries. �Where did
you get that? �Born with it?� As you smiled
and walked down the city street. Filling everyone
with a want stronger than they�d ever known.
�Tonight� you said �No one gets hurt.� Most
got out of their cars. And despite the warnings
of possible sudden frost, we couldn�t help but follow.
And follow we did. Til we were happily lost.
In the trail of blueberries rolling behind you.
The whole world turned indigo. And we were happy.
So happy, to live from fruit to mouth, as if all
our differences had been blued out. But just then
the Produce Man came with his yellow pad and
weighty scale and boomed over his bullhorn:
�I know. I know. It�s a dirty job, but someone
has to do it.� That�s when you slipped your blue
panties back on and said �I�d rather be lost
than found. Though we�re never completely both.�
And some rose as they always did like it was just
another morning. But some awoke different.
The sounds of Duke Ellington in their ears,
the taste of blueberries, the purple dusk
on their lips.



�2007 by Ray Sweatman