THE LAST OF THE PEARS
The basket of pears you sent
From Harry and David arrived
On time on Christmas Eve.
They’d tissued each perfect pear
In festive and seasonal green,
Beribboned and bedecked,
But not yet ripe. Each day
I nuked a pair in raw sugar
And rum, and they were tasty.
However, on New Year’s Eve
The last of the pears called out to me,
Blushing and chilling in the fridge.
It yielded softly to the knife.
Sweeter than sugar and more
Intoxicating than rum, the juice
Ran down my chin, and I thought,
“What better way for an old year
To end or for a new year to begin.”
12/31/2013
Leave a Reply