They thud to the grass
like long singles
to right field. Hard
as baseballs
rain soon soaks
their skins, softens
the cores. Wasps
and white-tipped butter-
flies alight then,
as sweet rot
bloats the fruit
to softball size.
Swollen, they burst
into foul decay.
Yet crickets go on
chirpin their approval
of the mottled corpses
scattered amid
pinestraw - memento
mori as jolting
as the electronic
scoreboard after
a fierce grand slam.
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