Pumpkin

Pumpkin

He said the stoutness was the effect of too many tangerines
slapped her peel thighs and instructed
‘Pumpkin, make sure there are no pips in my breakfast
it makes me green to see your fire hairs in my carpet.’

She scrubbed her skin with rock salt
ate black bread
but the glow kept on coming
and in the dark she hum lit kept him awake.

She took to the sofa
neck nooked around a spring
and sung quietly about dancing in marigold trees
moving her squash fists from over her pink grapefruit belly
where the sections were splitting, becoming bulbs.