by Gideon Burton
What is the watermelon? I will say:
No reservoir of red and cooling fruit.
Do not be fooled when tissued sweetness sprays.
For heavens sake, don't gnaw it like a brute!
This rindish pod, this green ellipse of dew,
has swallowed rivers to preserve its ounce.
This garden sponge to just one thing is true:
a thirst that will on any droplet pounce.
I have a theory, pause and hear me out:
These lumpy water jugs are not from earth
at all, but come from distant lands of drought
to where they will return to ease that dearth.
Before you smile and taste this summer treat,
remember, thirsty Mars has sent its fleet.
Feel free to copy, imitate, remix, or redistribute this poem as long as you give proper acknowledgment of authorship. Photo: flickr - S n o R k e l