You should write a poem about that pineapple plant

The way it looks like its arms are stretched out
and it is leaning its head down.

Maybe it is taking a bow, proud of finally getting the chance
to star in a one-fruit act and pleased to know, that though the
crowd was small, they genuinely loved the show.

Or maybe it is hanging its head in shame, embarrassed
to be a house pineapple unlike its cooler tropical cousins
that get to live outside, and brave insects and boots.

It looks a little tired to me, big giant head on that
tiny little chicken neck, all for the sake of what?
Being a centerpiece? Forget it, it says, I’m gonna rest.

But then I look again and it looks fierce and strong,
more capable than us silly bipeds…
big brains and posable thumbs may be nice,
but we can’t make our own sugar.

What should we do next?
Eat it or let it go in peace?

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