Death to Tomatoes

The tomatoes on our roof are chilly. It makes them droop down as if moping about the change in weather and the end of their bright, red summer glory. The leaves on the trees seem to take it better-brightening themselves to amazing colors and then listleslly falling off to the ground, as if surrendering to the inevitable. How Zen the leaves are. How resistant the tomatoes. I want to eat them(not the leaves)-out of guilt, but I dont think that I can muster up the will to eat one more of those damn things. We have been swimming in them all summer and even after giving away pounds of them they just keep coming. Pickled tomatoes, tomato salad, salsa, just plain ol' tomato on a plate by itself.
I start to get bitter as I look out at them and just wish they would accept their fate and drop-like the leaves-except more mushy- to the ground.
"We dont want you any more" I whisper out the window.
They dont seem to notice-but I think I see them droop on the vine even further in a glum acceptance. Like an Indonesian tourist in Anchorage on holiday-it just aint right, and they know it. They arent built for it-and the impending frosts and storms hover over them like frostbite.
But there they sit. Red and drooping untill the last possible minute when they will just have to face up and die.
I go back to the kitchen and take the bowl of rotting tomatoes that no one in the house seems to be able to eat and throw them in the garbage-hoping the other ones will get the point.
"See you next year" I say to the oozing, red corpses in the trash. I then walk out the door into October to buy squash.