Even when it got cold we found a patch,

green, bearing some unripen fruit. Maybe it was

too soon. We were sure it was. They didn’t want

to come off their vines. I tugged and tugged and

they eventually snapped. They were laying

in the parking lot, consuming the fence. They

looked fresh. Palatable. I wanted to

taste what the pollen grew. To taste

why the flowers bloomed the way they did.

The driveway sat vacant. No one

could tell me why. But they were plump. Unbothered.

I saw them every time I had to go. I thought

of them and wanted to pluck and stew and

consume. I couldn’t. So they sat. So they came;

the bugs mice rats birds they came. I watched

them devour, decimate, and disappear again.