“soft fruit”

Written for:  The Twiglets #303 - soft fruit

If original color 
is spotted with black, 
if you squeeze it, 
and it spurts out mush,
don't eat it–rotten banana.

My grandparents stewed
prunes.  Went beyond soft.

bite into ripe plum
juices cascade down chin
perhaps a bib?

         There was a woman, soft in the head
         She cooked fruit and ate it in bed
             She stained all her sheets
            with her soft, foolish eats
    But she answered to none 'cept a fish named Fred.


About purplepeninportland

I am a freelance poet, born and bred in Brooklyn, New York. I live with my husband, John, and two charming rescue dogs–Marion Miller and Murphy. We spent eight lovely years in Portland, OR, but are now back in New York. My goal is to create and share poetry with others who write, or simply enjoy reading poetry. I hope to touch a nerve in you, and feel your sparks as well.
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6 Responses to “soft fruit”

  1. Rall says:

    Tsk……the woman is obviously soft in the head being enamoured of a fish 🙂


  2. Misky says:

    The last line of your limerick had me in stitches.


  3. Jules says:

    All delightfully fresh reads!!


Comments are closed.