Here it comes

All through Tuesday
it rained down Jujubes in a steady drizzle.
Red green yellow orange purple streaks
of falling candy colorized the streetscape
bounced like psychedelic hailstones
became a cartoon carpet.
At first, of course, we caught them
in pots and pans
poured the particolored gems
into jars, cans, tins, bags
even Maggie’s shoeboxes
(she has a lot).
But the novelty in anything wears thin
and how many Jujubes
do you think you'll eat in a month? a year?
The city streetsweeper drivers got a lot of overtime
and I’m sure there were more than a few
sick dogs and kids that night.

Wednesday it was strawberries:
fresh as you please
beautifully formed
lust-red and sweet like nobody’s business.
A math prof from the U
gave a shot at quantifying
this heavenly harvest
but wasn’t sure whether to use
quarts or acre-feet.
It was quite a mess on the streets
and by the sound of the screech-and-thuds,
I imagine the insurance adjusters
were anxiously reviewing their “acts of God” clauses.
We’ve now got preserves out the wazoo
and the freezer’s packed tight;
I’m mostly worried I’ll never taste
another strawberry as good.

You can imagine the anticipation about Thursday.
Good ‘n’ Plenty or heads of lettuce?
The news said Vegas offered some interesting odds.
But nobody won the betting pool at work:
it was potato chips.
Who’d have guessed?
Lovely things, each a work of art
fluttering down like petals
golden wherever the sunlight caught them.
That’s when I noticed the sounds—
the Jujubes had made a loud patter,
the strawberries, wet thudding plops,
but the potato chips were quiet on the lawns and foliage,
and where they hit hard surfaces
the sound was a delightful sort of soft ticking.
The funny part
was different neighborhoods reporting different flavors:
salt-and-vinegar around campus
barbecue over in Grandview
sour cream and onion in Linden
cracked pepper up in Worthington.
We seemed to be in between—
a mix of salt-and-vinegar and New York cheddar.
We ran out of ziplocks in five minutes—
who wants stale chips?
There was a good deal of traffic that day
as folks drove to their “flavorhood”;
at least the accidents were fewer.

We’re almost giggly about Friday.
It’s the wee hours now—
the thing seems to start around dawn.
People I talk to aren’t sure
whether to break out wheelbarrows
5-gallon paint buckets
or tarps.
I haven’t looked forward to tomorrow
this much since I was a kid
on the nights before my birthday.
Funny, I can’t even remember now
if Monday was clear or cloudy.