The Ackee
My second cousin once removed, named Jackie,
purchased a ripened reddish-yellow ackee.
The fruit was gaping like an alligator
and luscious-looking. ’Twould invigorate her,
she thought, and took a little tiny bite.
The sweetness was so good, her appetite
grew like a cane toad. Gobbling all its flesh
she tossed away the big black seeds. So fresh
the taste, next day she hurried back and bought
another ackee. Nobody had taught
her anything about this foreign fruit.
That relative of mine was not astute.
This specimen was far from ripe, its rind
lime-green. She broke it open (was she blind?)
and had a healthy helping. Sadly, heaven
did not turn up to help. (She was eleven.)
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