On your show the avocados are always perfect
Unblemished and butter soft
The knife slicing millimeters from your palm as you cube the halves, unpitted
You will never be cut, you will never look up,
What you are dicing was never meant to survive- it’s true, The Smithsonian said so.
The pits go into the sink,
You smile at the camera.
My avocados are bruised as I mash them to a pulp.
We used to try and grow them as children, suspended on toothpicks
Over depression glass filtered through the sun.
Pink roots emerged but we never made a tree.
You are suprêming grapefruit segments, kinked and limpid,
Mixed with translucent slivers of tuna and the avocado for a salad.
A South American folk recipe for rat poison uses cheese
spiked with ground avocado seed.
Your show is Italian- I’d recommend tallegio.