Something's for sure in the clouds,
but it's not for me....
                               -- Charles Wright

Rather this grounding:  watermelon leaves,
squash and pumpkin, a trumpeting of orange-
yellow blossoms like a clever ploy while
curious tendrils feel their way through
chicken wire, risking the mower, or worse,
the neighbors' German shepherd.
                               Or it
could be the blonde I saw today in Kroger's:
four-inch heels, a Cleopatra snake
bracelet coiled around her upper arm,
tight jeans, tank top, red-nailed hand
hovering over peaches, cantaloupe, the same
brilliant lemons I turned for perfection
in the wake of her lingering scent.

Roger Pfingston
ROGER PFINGSTON is a retired teacher of English and photography. His poems have appeared recently in Salt River, Red River, Kennesaw, and Louisville Reviews. New work is scheduled to appear in Quarterly West, Poetry Midwest, and Tattoo Highway. A chapbook, Singing to the Garden, is due out this month from Parallel Press at the University of Wisconsin in Madison. This is his second appearance in The Adirondack Review.