As the radish blossoms in my mouth,
its delicious bitter juices, lick my lips:
the rabbits meandering from leafy plot
to leafy plot,
digging into my carrots and chives,
sizing up the last brave daffodils
who the resident deer have spared.
My thoughts wander home,
perhaps to my parents house,
slowly surrendering itself to blankets of leaves,
or maybe I am moving forward,
To some Autumn suburb college town;
and I think of my future garden,
and as the red skin of the vegetable vanishes
I smile wider with each crunch.