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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