18 august

it's a pie with too many pieces
maybe overserved?
undeserving, maybe
but the filling is falling out of reach
peaches too plentiful
  heaven-sent and full of cliche
  though the pits are long gone
on the front lawn we wait
imagining an official will arrive
collecting the excess
addressing the toomuch
and yet
still no one is coming
the sky has turned to stars
maybe it's time to breathe again
maybe the pie is ours