We stopped at the farm
because Mari wanted to see
her grandparents.

The highway turned 
to farm road
to cracked blacktop 
to gravel winding
between rows 
I couldn't identify.

A straw hat moved
among the rows, stopped.
A shot ran out. I jumped
in the back seat.

"Grandpa must've found a snake."

I walked with Mari
to the house, comically citified
in vintage store Dickies & Vans.
Grandpa shook my hand, 
a child's hand in his rough, raw
shotgun hands.

We drank chicory coffee,
eating a storebought lemon cake.

"Come see the peaches."

Grandpa plucked one
hanging deep in the boughs.
We ate beneath the trees 
heavy with fruit, 
sequined by the sun.