Can't Stand the Heat

Looking down I see a salt necklace
on my red cotton tank, proof of
the broccoli-steaming weather
I dripped through gathering edible jewels
from stalls in the old brick market
by the river, swarming swimming
in it’s own humid stew of home cooks
and bag mules, partners willing
to haul whatever they get to eat

all the hungry week. See fruit rest
in my knife empty hand as I test
the weight of ruby and emerald peppers,
press like a surgeon on avocado possibilities,
bribe the big cheese man with an opal smile
for extra havarti, almost ready to melt
once it comes out of the frigid case
where I’d like to climb inside.

Long after supper, still hot as
Cajun eggplant dressing I sit, wispy
pulled-up hair tickling my neck,
creaky fan blowing soupy night air
behind me, while I sip tropical juice
and coconut rum through a straw
from a cobalt glass full of ice
crammed down between my
breasts, cooling my blood.