by Leigh Ward-Smith
You want me for
your hot guava girl.
not too loud.
not too proud.
Juice, jelly, jam:
able to be quashed
under the press of your flesh.
Pulp: pink or cream,
Prone to ardor, rot, parasites.
You’re convinced my fruits will mummify
without your potable vigor, sure
my feathered veins will wither.
Still, I propagate in any soil
This poem—which probably would have been titled “The Botany of Desire” if Michael Pollan hadn’t used it already, darn him!—was inspired by last week’s Grammar Ghoul (Chimera) 66-word challenge #4, whose deadline I missed a few days back. My advance apologies for the formatting in this; I’m not an html expert.
The prompt word was guava, as you might have guessed. For more on this fascinating fruit, you can try the University of Hawai’i Knowledge Master database on pests, crops, and much more, as I did. And also be sure to visit Grammar Ghoul Press, which has a garden-ful of weekly prompts, boys and ghouls.