Lunch is a Knife’s Edge
The avocado’s belly-heavy body
splits clean, revealing its seed, polished
like a child’s marble, or the tooth
I left under my pillow
before I learned what parents keep.
The flesh, yellow-green,
curls in on itself self-consciously
exposing a betrayal of aging—
edges browning.
I promised to make guacamole,
but the blade waits patiently,
and no one is watching.
How does one resist the temptation?
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