sad little poem

Cleaning pineapple remains
is a solemn task on such a day,

though its prickly crown retains
its usual, timeless grandeur

even in an unnatural habitat.
My hands on the kitchen sink,

I am filled with discomforting
awareness. There, it sits silently

resplendent under the lamp's dull
glow, like a true Queen Mab

of dreams, more terrifying and
beautiful than any other conceivable

headdress; the graceful owner,
one whom I hardly knew.