We’re not trying to be caricatures of southern living, it’s just how it worked out today. There was a ham hock in the freezer, so Brenda cooked it up with green beans the other day. Yesterday we bought a watermelon at a roadside stand and the guy convinced me to buy some green tomatoes to go along with it. So today for lunch we had green beans with a ham hock, fried green tomatoes, and watermelon. The only thing left to do (which we didn’t actually do, by the way) was to retire to the gallery (that’s southern talk for the big front porch) after lunch to smoke cigars, drink mint juleps and watch the neighbors drive by. (We’re fine northern Christian folk, after all, and won’t abide those southern vices. 😉 )

All this fine southern living reminded me of a poem I wrote years ago entitled “Watermelon”

is gathered
green hills
gently slope
below the
red from long
dusty days,
rind as thick
and white
as frost
in the freezer,
sweet as
from the tree,
and seeds
for spitting.