Rescued by a pineapple

The voices of things-to-do
swarm like hornets inside
my head. A swirling eddy
trying to pull me in like
yelping, pesky puppies
piping ‘me-me-me-first’.

Outside the window, light
slides off the surfaces of
leaves like giddy, satiated
lovers. The trees nod in
farewell. As the tui sings
sonorous sonnets to spring.

So, I cut up a pineapple.
From Thailand. In pique.
Tropical sun escapes from
prickly skin in yellow-hued
fragrance pressing warm
against my fingers. As the
knife cuts through the fruit
cells burst in choruses of
lusciousness that trickle
and flow. Sparkly light
turning to golden honey.

Out comes the crystal plate
meant for festive occasions.
I place the discs of the sun
each glowing soft-haloed.

And bite into golden dawns
damp with the smell of
rich earth. The humid air
redolent with the sound
of bees. My brain flooding
with a million impulses of joy.
There is nothing else to do
but celebrate the now.


C'mon, don't be a silent spectator ....

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