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Wednesday Night in the Brigham Park Shelter
The potluck fills two picnic tables--
fried chicken and green gazpacho,
vine-ripe tomatoes with fresh mozzarella....
Behind dark oaks, a raspberry parfait sun.
The full moon--furred with humidity--
comes up peach, and though we
have biked twenty-three miles
through driftless hills,
steep and basted with heat,
though we have just crawled
up County F (the glorious
four-miles-down we flew
two hours ago), we suck on our beers
and water bottles, fill and refill
our plates--musk melon, blueberry pie,
melting chocolate ice cream--
map the next trip, agree
the evening couldn't be more delicious,
the ride was no sweat at all.
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