Ode to the Avocado

Look in the fruit basket, pushing aside
the uneven orbs of citrus until you find
the dark and malleable egg,
the fruit posing as a vegetable,
bright green enveloped by dark green.
Where do you come from, avocado?
I make nachos, and I think
“Make sure to invite ol’ A to this fiesta”.
I stir fry peppers and green beans
in soy sauce and lemon;
we all know it wouldn’t taste the same
without you, Avocado.
Pasta and panzanella salad?
Bellissimo! Buon appetito!
It just doesn’t make sense, Avocado.
You’re that actor they cast
as the villain in that one movie,
the father in the next,
Santa Claus in the holiday feature,
and then as the bumbling genius who gets
the pretty lady and saves the world.
How can you be so many things to
so many people?
And do you know what??
I saw you in a smoothie the other day.
A smoothie!
What the hell, Avocado?
Someone needs to put you in your place,
before you spread yourself too thin.
Pick a cuisine, already, quit showing up
on every menu in every type of restaurant.
It’s flashy, and frankly, kind of
Ok, ok, ok, I take it back.
Forgive me?
Dear A, I love you.
Love, Me.