Beggars Can’t Be Choosers
My disgruntled spouse surveyed the plum,
then squeezed its flesh beneath his thumb,
saw that there were plenty more
in the tree that grew next door,
and though the crop was most abundant,
he merely saw it as redundant.
There were no grapes for him to filch.
Bananas? It had proffered zilch.
No oranges or apples to
seed and peel and slice and chew.
No limes or lemons to produce
a glass of fresh-squeezed zesty juice.
It made him sad and rather glum
to see plum after purple plum
hung on the tree. Could I dispute
his claim that we’d have to commute
to steal instead various fruit?
I felt his argument was moot.
One must make do with what might come.
The progeny of plum was plum.
If he required figs or berries,
peaches, kiwi fruit or cherries,
he’d have to head out to the store
or plant a a dozen trees or more.
He’d have to mulch and trim and spray,
water every other day,
and wait for years for fruit to grow,
but he was hungry now and so
he went outside and picked him some
plum after plum and plum and plum.