Pineapples

 

First time I ate
pineapple, it b-
roke on my to-
ngue, I hadn’t
expected it to.
I pulled it out
& watched sun-
flower dazzle in
spittle. poked t-
he mixture & fe-
lt a familiar mo-
isture but of a d-
fferent organ—t-
en-ten under an
udala & those r-
ight & wrong w-
ays fingers get
crossed & choke
laughter, skin—
the kind you la-
ve honey but yo-
ur tongue scare
to taste. I return-
ed it back to the
cave & buried the
udala night into
the pineapple s-
eed.

 

Victor writes from Minna, Nigeria where he’s a member of the Hill-top art foundation Minna. He is also a photography enthusiast. His works have appeared here and elsewhere…

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