Radishes

Radishes flip their skirts in the wind

like a line of chorus girls

throw them over their heads.

If they were singers

they’d be the Andrews sisters.

If they had jobs

they’d be nurses who drive

red sports cars after work.

Every spring you put up with

their flirtations

for the crunch between your teeth

the quick surprise

of rain and fire

they’ve saved all season

just for you.