Sunday, June 14, 2015

We take cucumbers as less than beans,
mere vessels for absorbing dill in brine
or cooling salad, sandwich or the eyes:
boatloads harbour under bristle patches
that the advanced nutritionist declaims
in the end, as pretty much valueless.
And such would be the definitive
conclusion of our superior age,
which in truth, is a kind of split infinitive
and historical afterward, in a word,
does not amount to a hill of beans, for
cucumbers in the ancient world
were revered as a camel-hump-gourd
that given to mature its prickle skin
was storable hydration for the desert
and an immanently clean water source
when poison or stagnant putrefaction
made a wellspring's virtue into sin.
Think about that, then, when you put your hand
into the itching leaves of them and think
they're a kind of vegetable inflation
that wrecks the almighty supply and demand,
a cheap proliferation that could use some
scarcity, backed with rarest peppers - no,
wait a minute, those can be rather prolific -
backed with rarest some such hard to grow
and yielding little thing - find something -
reflect how they're the best kind of money,
like water, like little rabbit bunnies.

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