One Summer

You complain

as I fall behind

picking wild flowers

but later

you’ll be the first

to offer a vase

We’ll drink

the last of the apple wine

and together cook a feast

of what little we find

or maybe

we’ll make a run

to the local store

in search of an onion

or another ingredient

lately unaccounted for

then I’ll laugh

as you tally

incorrect change and complain

as I fall behind

By Eve Paradise