Hard Cider

Fruits

contain their own seeds.

Are mostly luscious

brightly coloured

sweet.

From apple-a-day

to eye of temptation

to rot.

And when left to yeast

the intoxicating drink

of the gods.

Who knew

tomato is not

a vegetable?

And when left to fall

not far from the tree

would lead to soup, not Eve?

I almost never go back over one of my poems without thinking I've used too many words. And I almost always set out hoping I'll write something with the compression and distillation of a Haiku. At least this gets me closer! What the reader doesn't get from such a short poem is that finding these exact words isn't nearly as difficult as rejecting all the words and tangents and digressions that flood in when setting out on a topic as wide-open as this. "Less" is a lot harder than "more"!

I like the whimsy here. But I think what might make it work (if it works at all!) is the hint of opposites, the push and pull: from wholesome to erotic, from exotic to mundane, and from sacred to profane.

Something about tomatoes would have been a more sensible title. But once Hard Cider came to mind, I couldn't resist. I think it invites the reader in, in a way Beef-Steak or Vine Ripe don't.

(By the way, tomatoes -- which certainly do contain their own seeds -- are, technically, fruit. The transformation from exotic fruit to wholesome vegetable was the result of canny marketing in the early days of industrial agriculture, when trains and refrigeration allowed the transportation of perishable items from coast to coast, and made the ubiquitous tomato possible.)