I Will Eat That Plum Poem by C Richard Miles

I will eat that plum;
I will.
It’s sitting there, desolate
In my lunchbox
Between the screwed-up
Silver pieces resembling modern artwork
That were once the aluminium foil
Seducing my sandwich.

But I will eat that plum;
I will.
For it whispers,
Eat me
But not brazenly, like dates
As it still sits there
Between the last few crumbs
Of bread that missed my mouth,
Accusingly now
Not just feeling abandoned.

I will eat that plum;
I will.
But I’m still
Munching that apple.
It’s not that I’m fruit-ist:
I don’t discriminate.
(Though I have my preferences)
I’m not ageist, too,
Though it is a little wrinkled,
Almost past its sell-by-date
And is that mould?
Or just the normal whitish bloom?

Eat me,
It shouts louder
(But I’m still only halfway
Through my apple)
If it had been a plum
In the garden of Eden,
It mutters to itself,
There wouldn’t have been
All that fuss.