Avocado Boat Poem by Raj Arumugam

I cut an avocado in half
and give one half to the visitor;
and I carefully scoop
the avocado
gently, gently
with a teaspoon
(the Aztec records show
this is, ahem! the fertility fruit)
and I savor each scoop
and eat like a pig
(ah well, like a graceful pig):
and at last
I have the skin left
in the palm of my hand
and it’s tough
and shaped like a boat;
and it has rained
and there’s a puddle of water
on the lawn
and an ant that’s been irritating me
wandering about on my naked foot
and I put the ant
in the avocado boat
and I set the boat in the puddle
and I give it a gentle push
and I say:
“Bon voyage, Monsieur! ”
And then I look at my visitor,
and that silly guy is still staring at his half
and I ask, ever gently,
“Do you need help
with your fertility fruit there? ”
The visitor replies, “No’ –
and I wonder if I should get him brain food
or perhaps set him off on another avocado boat…