The red tomato

I see a red tomato hanging like a Christmas bulb in my next-door neighbor’s yard. Every one else is green. She stands out strong like a woman in a red dress on a night out. She’s tall in her heels, tall on her vine looking down on every one. She’s juicy and she knows it.

I’d like to tip toe over like a small goblin in the rain, the mist rain that’s falling today on this sleepy-weather Sunday and go pluck her and steal her away from next door. I have fresh mozzarella, spicy green basil, balsamic vinegar and it’s lunchtime.

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