On a verandah, on a train,
For tomorrow, or from yesterday,
I am about to bite a nectarine
Peel away a skin of discovery,
Smell the flesh of mystery,
Suck the juice of nostalgia,
This slides down my greedy cheek
Or was it a salty tear?
Because of this nectarine, I am young again
On my swing
In the garden
Trying to remember the words to my favourite song
And I am not on a swing
But a wicker chair
Telling a sad story to my lovely nectarine.