These juicy pineapple
tidbits
are up to speed
with the latest gossip
or so I quip,
as we divvy
them up
in bowls,
one for you
and one for my
idiot self—
remarking
I’ve heard the
pears are splitting up,
that one was caught
in a morning
tryst with a fig;
while cerise
did ooh-la-la
with some Auckland
kiwi rogue.
And the coconut
from Manila?
It ran off
with the melon’s
daughter, mixing
its milk
with the seeds
we always
spit out,
like the crétin
from the streets
of Bordeaux,
who taught the
bona fide way
to cracher,
and that pineapple
in French
is ananas,
confused
with a tropical
lech,
the one that’s
sheathed
in yellow, boasting
of the length of
his sweet
everything.
Andreas Gripp
February 2, 2024
RF Image
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