Exotics

Back in the day, we knew the names
of everyone who lived on our street.

Now we locate ourselves in the south
on a different meridian, where black-

eyed peas are eaten on the first day
of the year. Are we exotic enough

for you if we have indeed migrated
but did not wind up in some borough

of Manhattan? I don’t mean to sound
bitter or spiteful. It’s just sad no one

really knows what to do with the sapodilla,
with the cherimoya, the dragon fruit,

and then they sit in the grocery bin
like deportees awaiting uncertain fates.

 

In response to Via Negativa: Undertaking.

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