Fruit Cocktail

poetry © 2000 Gary


Are in love with the notion
Of being in love,
And are certain they deserve
Every soft lick
And smooth slurp
That comes their way.
After all, isn't strawberry
The perfect color for blondes
And valentines?

They titter and preen.
Seeking to draw all attention
To their luscious form,
They order darker berries
To tone it down;
And (rumor has it)
Shove the Marions
To the back of the refer.

But whip out heavy cream
With beaters whirling
In controlled frenzy,
And watch them squirm,
Lifting their open legs
Just as any other
Junior Miss after the prom.

Show'm brown sugar
And you better run.


Pick out an orange, not just any fruit,
but dark with a red tinge to the peel.

Hold the globe, turn it in your hands,
let the rough surface massage your skin.

Notice the color - marmalade on buttered toast
70's carpet in the rumpus room, lights low.

Breathe in deeply - Grand Marnier,
Orange pekoe and pekoe, furniture polish.

Grab the nipply end, uncover the sweet flesh,
take time, let the rind's oils flavor your fingers.

Inside pulp segment wait, open one and squeeze,
let the minute juice sacks squirt your clothes.

Set aside the seeds, released from their secret place,
and the rind to dry to remind you of today.

Eat - with memories of cheesecake and icing.
Don't forget to share. Offer your companion a bite.

Have another, perhaps this one a Valencia
or Mandarin. Go slow. You have all night.


names are too long
to fit on the first line,
best to just eat them, juice dripping

Red flesh
wrapped in green rind,
wants to be devoured
in the original package

skin hides orange
filled with seeds and membrane
to be sliced into the perfect

how do you do
a honeydew, solid
waxless comb from special bees green
with dew?

Rare fruit,
Casaba left
the exotics on the right,
the smell of mango on her breath
and skin.


Oh, plain
you watch your sisters win
praise, poems and lovers by
the score.

The sluts,
falls to pieces when plucked,
blackcap stains everyone she touches

you with face fuzz,
overlarge hands and coarse
seeds are the only cap whose juice
I suck.


Island Belle

Purple stains the lips;
protection strewn round the deck,
cast off grapeskin.

Purple stains the lips;
skins scattered around the deck,
cast off apparel.


Five pounds of fresh fruit
ate in one evening orgy,
spent the night shitting.

Five pounds of fresh fruit
ate in one evening orgy,
a night spent shitting.


Greens seek company;
bread, cheese and a bottle of wine,
Jello molds with holes.


Strawberries may be served
with ready-made Cool Whip,
cream beat into a froth,
or sweetened sour cream
drizzled with brown sugar,

but if you wash the dishes
with delicate soap
and wipe them dry
with the fluffy towel,
I will serve you berries

on a plate of pink
and bowl tinged with brown,
flavored with nothing
but my own fresh syrup.
Forget the flatware,
this red fruit is finger food.


their nectar flows.
Strawberries will fool you
with painted rouge and tasteless body,
not peach.

Don't mix
with the cousins.
Nectarine imitates,
apricots are for sour toothless
old men

Pulp, juice
dripping from chin,
taste them wearing no top,
covering breasts with their tempting

lust but don't tell,
waiting only your bite
to nibble the way to their bitter

should be strippers;
but they rush disrobing,
peeling faster than a yellow


At farms and city markets,
I have relished your tame cousins
in a jam or jellyroll,
laid on johnny-cake mornings
slathered with butter.

In copse and creekside,
I have plucked your wild sisters,
red and gold sunbursts,
nibbled fresh where found
till my quick lust appeased .

None of these cap my craving
for your dark, saucy fruit
to stain my lips and tongue,
my hands and the rest of me
till night falls on the forest.

So, raven raspis, hide your cane
in thickets away from prying beak
and creatures four legged or two
and a still summer morn
I will visit you for my elation.
All poems © 2000 Gary. All Rights Reserved. Do not reproduce or distribute without the expressed written consent of the author. Poems used here are reprinted by permission of the author, Gary. Artwork provided by About's Web Clip Art.
Gary Blankenship is a retired federal managers whose new avocation is writing prose and poetry. His work has appeared on Writer's Hood, Clean Sheets, Electric Wine, and Sensitive Poetry. He won the ENE Dark Fantasy contest and his short story placed fourth in the Preditors & Editors 1999 Reader's Poll. He loves to talk about writing as much as write and to play writing games. He spends too much time in workshops.
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