Every time I see one of those
fresh fruit combinations
outside a produce market —
so appealingly assorted,
so nicely sliced, so neatly plastic-wrapped
and nestled in a bed of ice —
I think,
oh sure,
you look so perfect and pretty
with your one luscious-looking wedge
of golden-ripe pineapple
perched on top to tempt me,
but underneath
you are rife with deceit.
I remind myself of
mushy past-prime honeydews,
the unsweetest picks of the cantaloupe crop,
and slabs of mealy, tasteless apples.
And then I think,
no, today will be different,
you will not disappoint me.
In fact, you look so delicious,
I’ll be sorry when I’ve finished you,
so today I’ll buy two.
No, Adam was not the
only sucker
to fall for fruit.


©Ellen Azorin