I spray paint the bare vegetable rows
with water. They rise up
in muddy swells of
submerged cotyledons.
I consider the cucumber,
with its refrigerated summer-
evening-by-the-river aroma,
even dressed for dinner,
it maintains a transparency.
Or the proud, bruised
gloss of an eggplant,
concealing its association
with the (Nightshade family)
and a firm milky-toned meat,
that comes alive in the arms
of Mediterranean cheeses.
The heat of an icicle radish.
That gaudy fuchsia palette offered
in the soiled flavor of a beet.
The wide, grinning yellow teeth
shrouded within an ear of corn.
My thoughts move on to silverware
and napkins.

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