These four plums
in our fridge
I bought purely
for the pleasure
of echoing anew
the old William
Carlos Williams poem.
Satsuma plums, grown
in the local orchard
that we visit each weekend
for produce and organic popcorn.
They are fleshy,
dark, dewy, colder
than my mouth prefers.
Postpone biting, then,
while their still-life
beauty so red
adorns the fridge ledge
lit from above
by a small pale bulb.
Forgive me - the reddest
has just found its way
to my open mouth,
a squirt of sweet juice
escapes my lips,
incriminates my chin.
(So much depends...)
Three plums left - still
a gorgeous installation,
and trickling juice
an interactive
performance culminating
at the kitchen bin
in a satisfying
plum-stone spit.
Wednesday 23 December 2009
Max Richards
Doncaster, Victoria
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