One of the joys of good poetry is the use of words and rhythm to create memorable images, as in this homage to the humble aubergine ... but contrary to the opinion of the author, I love the taste of this versatile and delicious veggie!
Eggplant
by Richard Jones
I've never liked the taste,
which, I think,
is a shame,
because some days
when my wife goes to work
and I walk to the grocery store,
I stand in the produce aisle,
admiring those gorgeous
purple fruits––
wine colored,
sensuously curved––
and can't help but reach out
and pick one up, just to hold it,
so silky smooth, so luscious looking
I almost fall in love,
but then remember
who I am:
a man not fond of eggplant.
Nonetheless,
I linger and look
and there in the bin
under the misters and lights,
I find it––
the perfect eggplant,
the glossy flesh unblemished,
meat firm under the fingers,
the stem and cap
bright green.
The fruit heavy in the hand,
I place the eggplant
in my cart,
taking special care,
knowing an eggplant is delicate
and wounds easily.
I carry the grocery bag home
through a light rain
and arrange the eggplant
on a white tablecloth,
the opulent purple orb
lustrous in the window light
and quietly beautiful
as if lying on satin sheets.
Then I sit in the wing chair.
The house grows dark
as the rain falls harder
and I wait for my wife
to come home from work,
shake off her raincoat,
turn on the lamp,
and behold the eggplant.
Have a good day, and enjoy a nice helping of the vegetable of your choice as you coast down to the end of your weekend.
More thoughts later.
Bilbo
