Bright Yellow

From across the empty asphalt parking lot I saw Fr. Onisie holding up a bright yellow rubber chicken.
"That will make an interesting sermon," I shouted.
When Bill and I got up close we saw that it was a summer squash and we admired the gladiolas in bloom along the fence.
"You want? From my garden," he said, in his magnificent Romanian accent.
I smiled and said "Thank you." I cradled it in my arms.
"A baby! A baby I can eat for supper," I said laughing.