Graphic by Melanie Lust / North By Northwestern

I had no need for the peaches.

Alas, they ripened regardless-

sunset-speckled and irresistible-

in droves, like a mad colony.

I took one, tantalized, tired,

and felt the teasing rednesses ignite-

nuclear sweetness, poison steeped in dew,

death, the alluring scent of the end.

I waited under the peach tree

and wondered what it was all for:

the bumblebee, the coffin sky,

the misery, the war.