A pineapple has a carapace
not skin, requires a thick blade
and care when cutting; the juice
is slippery, slices slide to escape
unuseable when they find the floor.
These apples have no name.
"The mud map has disappeared,"
says the orchardist as she rings up
their modest price on the till.
I am cutting forgotten history.
The pears are soft and melt
around my blades. I quickly
douse them with lime juice.
Strawberries, de-leaved and halved,
green grapes washed - all ready!
The platter, adorned
with various mints,
is a new venture.
And time has moved on -