The Connective Tissue of Segmented Fruits

“I like oranges,” she says, again,
midnight hair thrown back,
amber eyes flashing.
I had heard her, the first time.

But it was no fault of mine—
or was it?—we had not shared the fruit:
the first of her Dear Johns had followed
my failure to fathom her implication.

“I hate honeydew,” she later spat,
spying my melon in her Coldspot.
Yes, I knew, but had no chance to explain
it was a Buena Vista orange-flesh cant.

I was again, not long after, banished
for buying the wrong brand of banana.
Her passions ran oddly deep, I knew,
but they seemed to meet my needs.

So now, with a sense of déjà vu,
I anticipate her words as she reclines
on a blue and white striped serape
in the setting Mazatlan sun:

Yes, to be sure, I already know
as her amber eyes flash
beneath those midnight locks—
“I like oranges,” she says.

“Even the white stuff.”

About Greg Wright

I have worn many hats as a writer and editor over the years. Unlike my scholarly and journalistic work from the "old days" at Hollywood Jesus, Past the Popcorn, or SeaTac Blog, the writing here is of a more overtly personal and spiritual nature. I hope it provokes you as much as it provokes me.
This entry was posted in Other, Poetry. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.

You may use these HTML tags and attributes: <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <strike> <strong>

To prove you're a person (not a spam script), type the answer to the math equation shown in the picture. Click on the picture to hear an audio file of the equation.
Click to hear an audio file of the anti-spam equation