Seduction in the Orange Groves
In rows of citrus trees the workers tend
My fam’ly’s enterprise a century.
Among Valencia where I would fend,
And since I came of age they all could see—
The girl-turned-woman child is like an orange,
With flesh as smooth & scented of its bloom.
Don’t ever taste the skin of burnished orb;
Must leave the tree, deny of its perfume.
They also knew the foreman had his sight
To pluck the succulent from off the tree.
He could not reckon such a dare would bite,
How willingly to tempt the Fates was he.
Yet to his nerve & swagger I was drawn
In spite the station of my pedigree.
And so it was one day at break of dawn
We met beneath the tree he knew I’d be.
The heavy-lidded eyes’ belie intent,
My efforts hew much closer to the source.
To find his poverty from words’ infest,
Lest oft’ I may betray a truer course.
It cannot liken to his wax & wane,
Of what is ripe in needful harvest tryst.
In twilight chill, the smudge pots in the rain,
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