Fuzzy Fruit

      A Fruit’s Tale

Keilor says that most poems are
Like condoms on the beach-
Evidence that somebody

Was once there,
Had an experience
Of little interest

To the passerby
Quickly washed away
With the receding surf

Obscure without a tale
Indigestible by you and me
A fuzzy foreign fruit

Kiwi for koalas with
Green and black core
Juicy but frightening

Familiar fruit with a
Creative bias sticks
In the eye as a thorn

Floats In the memory
Like mint leaves in
Kentucky fine bourbon

Sweet and Sour.