Cherries Poem by Morgan Michaels

In their blue-black coats,
a sun-splash for an epaulet,
they're tasty this year,
extra glossy fat:
God alone knows how-
some years just like that.

Coming home from Costco
one by one, we toss them back
(they're irresistible)
spitting out the pits
(that fall into cracks)
we mean to be trees
but doubt ever will:
longer mornings needed
we've agreed, for that,
and deeper soil
to sink roots in
than any here in the 'hood-

a higher sky, a
particular slant of rain,
and the friendship of their kind.

Anyway, we can't resist
and as we stroll home
fish them out faster,
singly, by two's,
by the three's, now,
from their paper slips:
faster and faster,
pop them from their stems
and toss them back,
buffing them, first, on our shirts.