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Great Writing - Home > Poetry > My Kingdom for a Cherry
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Poetry
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| My Kingdom for a Cherry | |
| By Sir_Nigel | ||||||||||||
| 07 June 2007 | ||||||||||||
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At first you appeared so tempting and ripe, and I longed to devour your flesh. But at home you were quite disappointing and plain, you were bland when you should have been fresh. It was small consolation to gob out your stones and score hits on the patio pots. Though I dreamt of the big brass spittoon I would buy to give proof of my accurate shots. I searched for some lingering vestige of taste as I sucked out the faint hints of flavour. Why was your essence so formless and vague, why was there nothing to savour? Were you stacked in a warehouse to be sorted and cleaned, and then left for a week in the freezer? Were you defrosted, re-frosted, packaged and chilled by a Pole or some similar geezer? Why did the bastards do this to you? You were perfectly fine in your field. But they pumped you and sprayed you and forced you to grow, for the sake of a lucrative yield. My mind drifted back to a market in Spain where I once found the fruit of my dreams. Here tubby black widows bought slippers and pants, stuffed olives and ripe aubergines. On a fruit and veg stall stood a rough looking bloke, with a wild grey moustache and a fag. I bought from him luscious fat handfuls of cherries packed up in a brown paper bag. They were heaving with flavour and dripping with juice and I knew this was how they should be. So I scoffed them all down in the space of an hour and spat all the stones in the sea. You might want some meaningful point to conclude – a cherry-based proverb or two, But I’m just jotting down what goes on in my head - that’s all that I wanted to do.
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