Halved lengthwise, hollowed,
salted, dressed with lemon —
the stone discarded —
I eat an avocado
avariciously, and with
immoderate relish

wielding the spoon
scoopwise, each smooth
green scoop sliding
across a palate primed
for the fruit — scoop
after luscious scoop, till

the bowl of the spoon
outlives its usefulness
and the spoon, turned sideways,
yields an edge
to scrape the hull
clean of the green

left clinging. Scrape it close
as a shave, small arcs,
scrape, scrape.
(Spoon licked clean.)
Then: shell nests shell, each
a stacked green bowl.
(A neat finale.)

From Questions About The Stars (Brick Books, 1998).
Used with the author’s permission.