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Mario Petrucci

Foreign bodies

snuck among broad-leaved green

a shade too deep for suburbia.


Specked purple, extravagance

scarred by wasps, skin

the worked grain of metal.


Expatriate fruit

surviving out in the cold;

blind snouts of avocado


made possible

by a record summer,

a stubborn mother.


Inside, they split

under their own sagging weight -

till the edge of the breadboard


brims, bright with their oil

and I bite into polyp flesh

not quite sweet.


From Smiths Knoll No 9 (1995)

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