Oh baby, just look at them,

So -- soft,

So juicy,

Exploding, ripe with spongy sweetness.

I wish --

I wish I could press my face to them,

Pull back the hard shell and caress the pale yellow skin,

Taste the sweet pulsating meat within,

Smell that perfidious perfume that performs for any man,

Or woman.

But no. . .

Glass like the bars of a cell,

Holding me back

So far away. . .

Across mountains of produce.

Karl Robinson