Poem in two parts on the “life” and impending “death” of a kiwi fruit segment in the lead-up to and at the start of a dinner party.

Sliced and dissected, a shadow of myself;

Juicy remnant of a more bountiful whole.

Furry, tanned skin protecting thinly

My soft, succulent centre: two-tone green,

Jet-black seeds round off-white nucleus -

Part-luminous, part-opaque, ripening

Intensity: three days away by neutral

Aroma from dinner party consumption.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Sun-ripened, energised, jumping into

Fruit-bowl assortment, sweet-savoury

Aroma enticing the eyes, nose, lips

Of hungry dinner party invitee.

Holding my own in prime assortment,

Motley crew; glistening orange in wings,

Sweet/savoury straw/raspberry centre

Of attention.  Blueberry, blackcurrant

Nestling in between.

My kiwi segments binding the melange

Together.  Balance of colour, aroma, taste -

Ripe fruit, zingy seeds ensuring I’m highlight;

Always left to last, to savour my attractions.

 

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