Dedicated to Witchypoo

P. Avium

But, that’s not what I call you.

I lust after you,

Dark red and sweet

And day dream

That your trees

Line my street.

I consume you

By the pound

In quantities that

Would astound.

When on sale

For a mere,

99 cents a pound.

No, this poetry thing

Is not my forte,

Yet, after sitting and

Eating them all day,

This, I can

Assuredly say,

I like the sweet ones,

Not the tart.

What’s that noise?

Why, that’s a fart.