Transformation

Avocados follow
the laws of physics.
Not conservation
of mass, but Newton’s
Third — every action an
equal and opposite
reaction. And the
Second law of
thermodynamics,
because this avocado,
grocery stacked yesterday
like green cordwood, and at
least as hard, has become
entropic overnight, now
a flaccid globe of
canary and brown flesh.

This transmutation, how
and where? In the tan
paper sack perched on
the rear seat? No — still
firm exiting the bag.
In my kitchen — secretly
caressed at night by
the ethylene Lilith
that seduces all my fruit,
because bananas do
me the same way?
Who knows?

A minute, an hour,
a day, we are all
slowly dissolving,
fodder for the next star.

Verse-Virtual April 2022