Poetry       Essays       Letters

Sandy Lyne


Watermelon Suicide

Summer, and the men folk
of my family, mostly
farmers, raced down the long
hill of the state park
picnic pavilions after
the escaped watermelon
headed for the asphalt
parking lot. The women folk
in bright summer dresses
shout, “Save it! Save it!”
but the men folk returned
without it— it took flight
at last into the parking lot—
their heads hanging down
like returning Crusaders,
barely consoled by
the warm potato salad.


© The Estate of Sandford Lyne



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