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badger11

An Abundance of Courgette

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badger11

revision3

To stress the plant, Eve whispered for a frost.
This lover was like her Dad. He spread his cloth:
one seed per pot, a comfort bed of compost;
he bought a cloche, waited for May's warmth.

Her mum's cook book so cunningly weeded
with cryptic notes. A scrawl of woman's pleasure.
Peeling skin, dicing flesh, revealing seeds:
these courgettes were a shameless, fruity treasure!

She baked a ratatouille and tasted the conceit
of knowing myth comes from a male flower.
Though truth is those russet scents still linger
along her limbs, between the sheets, a heat

to climb without a ladder the orchard trees
and let no apple fall. What is it to be free?

 

 

revision2

Eve whispered for a frost to stress her lover,
but he nurtured, gave up time like her Dad:
one seed per pot, a comfort bed of compost;
he bought a cloche, waited for May's warmth.

Eve found her mum's overused recipe book
with cryptic notes. Deciphered her pleasure.
Peeling the skin, dicing the flesh, revealing
the seeds. His treasure's an unashamed fruit!

Eve baked a ratatouille and tasted the heat
of knowing myth comes from a male flower.
An orphaned child, she went scrumping in Kent
was never caught, got the name tag from the lads.

That's one story. Where russet scents still linger
along her skin, between the sheets, a whisper
to climb without a ladder the orchard trees
and let no apple fall to bruise her dreams.

 

 

revision

Eve whispered for a frost to stress her lover,
but he nurtured, gave up time like her Dad:
one seed per pot, a comfort bed of compost;
he bought a cloche, waited for May's warmth.

Eve found her mum's overused recipe book
with cryptic notes. Deciphered her pleasure.
Peeling the skin, and shaping to cubes, reveals
the seeds. His treasure's an unashamed fruit.

She baked a ratatouille and tasted the heat
of knowing myth comes from a male flower.
She went scrumping in Kent, was never caught,
got the tag 'Eve'. It stuck. So her story goes.

 

 

original

Eve whispered for a frost to stress her lover,
but he nurtured, gave up time like her Dad:
one seed per pot, a comfort bed of compost;
he bought a cloche, waited for May's warmth.

Eve found her mum's overused recipe book
with cryptic notes. Deciphered her pleasure.
She baked a ratatouille and tasted the heat
of knowing myth comes from a male flower.

Peeling the skin, dicing to cubes, reveals
the seeds. These label a courgette a fruit.
She went scrumping in Kent, was never caught,
got the name 'Eve'. It stuck. So her story goes.

 

Courgette  fact : Pick a male flower, remove petals, brush the anther over the stigma. One male can pollinate several females.

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tonyv

I like the revision, but I'm leaning toward the last two lines from the original. I wonder if it can be inferred that she prefers the company of men and vice versa. And I also like, "It stuck. So her story goes."

On 8/5/2019 at 1:16 PM, badger11 said:

Courgette  fact : Pick a male flower, remove petals, brush the anther over the stigma. One male can pollinate several females.

As a privileged member of the patriarchy, I'll declare that polygyny is probably okay, polyandry not so okay. Alright this has been a stimulating delve into anthropology. Nice work, Phil!

Tony 😀


Here is a link to an index of my works on this site: tonyv's Member Archive topic

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badger11

Thanks Tony. I have restored the original ending.

cheers

Phil

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