Friday, July 25, 2014

Cucumber, cucumber!

Cucumber, cucumber!
Where art thou now?
Cucumber, cucumber!
There’s sweat on my brow.

When I opened the fridge
You were nowhere to be found
To slice through your ridge
Is better than to be crowned

Your sweet, tender tongue
Is all I desire
Your siren has been sung
Step away from the fire!

The holiest of vegetables
And better than any fruit
Some give you bad labels
To me you’re a flute

The disappointment is overwhelming
How ever will I carry on?
This sorrow is helming
Like an offended Don

My life can’t continue
This ear of corn is looking sharp
All I have to--but wait! What is that?

Can it be?
My beloved cucumber
Next to the ghee?

What are you doing out here?
You silly little thing
By the beer
And the coil spring

Never again will I lose you
For there is the cutting board
Time to say “Adieu”
My mouth you are moving toward.

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