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Fruit
There’s something sinister
about a mango.
It tempts you with a heady scent
and beckons with a guileless green,
brushed lightly with a Renoir glow
of blushing rose.
So coy.
Beware!
If you persist,
(You doubtless will)
and let it
lure you to cut through
the skin
Behold!
The sun laid bare.
A blaze of glistening gold
that draws you, recklessly
within.
Oh joy! oh God
revealed in fulsome fruit!
You swoon.
Alas too soon.
The fleeting ecstasy undone
by heartless stone
the mango masks so well.
Eat fast, devour the meager fruit, my friend.
For if you don’t
the ravaged flesh
will quickly rot and fill the air
with death’s sweet stench.
Mango. Memento Mori.
(First published in Poetry Canada, June/Sept. 2007) |
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