Fiesta Melons
In Benidorm there are melons,
Whole donkey—carts full
Of innumerable melons,
Ovals and balls,
Bright green and thumpable
Laced over with stripes
Of turtle—dark green.
Chooose an egg—shape, a world—shape,
Bowl one homeward to taste
In the whitehot noon:
Cream—smooth honeydews,
Pink—pulped whoppers,
Bump—rinded cantaloupes
With orange cores.
Each wedge wears a studding
Of blanched seeds or black seeds
To strew like confetti
Under the feet of
This market of melon—eating
Fiesta—goers.
