Peach Man

By Alyssa Monte

I hope that tomorrow when I go to the market, there will be ripe peaches to pick and the man who sells them won't call me sweetheart and when I walk home I will be safe and my dog will be happy to see me and tonight when I make dinner I will slice up the peach I got from the market and place three slices in a glass of red wine and tomorrow when I wake up and open my yellow journal I will put words on the pages and if the words don't flow I will pour wine on them and when I walk to the cafe to take a break I will order a chai latte but not before I look over my shoulder three times and try to reassure myself that nothing is wrong and then look over my shoulder once more and when the man who sells shoes next door smiles at me and says good morning I will increase my pace and give a short wave and when I walk up the four flights of stairs in my building I will remember the night when I tripped on the seventeenth step and got that scar on my knee and when I finally make it to my door I will push it closed behind me and sing on the top of my lungs but only after I check the lock and tonight when I lie down and say goodnight to the sky I will hope that tomorrow when I go to the market, there will be ripe peaches to pick.