Fruit

The orb felt firm in some places
Like when you press a finger on your forehead
But mostly it was soft
Like your cheek.

It had a bright red colour
And such thin taut skin that will
Surely break upon impact.

Its pigmentation - inside and out -
Will stain everything it touches
Its pulpy flesh will explode in the direction
It is hurled.

Its juices will travel with the pull
Of gravity and drag
All its tiny seeds in every crevice
Along the way
The Director for Culture exited the building
And I was the one to cast the first stone
Well, fruit.

It exploded on his face like
Organic Facial Wash.




Tuesday, October 30, 2012