Poem - The King's Choice

One day on a shelf of the King's Frigidaire,

A Grapefruit, an Apple, a Peach, and a Pear

Engaged in debate, each claiming that he

The Monarch's royal choice was most certain to be;

And parting completely with modesty, each

Quite glowingly pictured himself. Said the Peach:

"Who else has such feminine fragrance as mine?

Who else has the sapor of rate vintage wine,

Or the lush amber syrup that captures the bliss

Of the passionate lover's first passionate kiss?

I am music and poetry, moonlight and joy,

A delicate, gold, epicurean toy!"

"Oh, pshaw!" cried the Grapefruit, "the flavor you claim

Compares, ma'am, to mine, as the spark to the flame.

My flesh drowns in nectars that sweetly entice

The tongue with the tang of cool honey and spice;

I am virile yet subtle, emphatic yet shy-

Now, enough of your boasts or I'll squirt in your eye!"

My friends," said the Apple, "I never have heard

Self-praise so abundant or highly absurd.

Be fair! What perfume can match that of my skin

Who else is as crisp as the air where he grows?

Who else tastes as sunshine and cool mountain snows?"

"Such ego affronts me," retorted the Pear:

"I outflavor you all and have flavor to spare;

I am yielding and smooth and deliciously plump,

Each bite an exotic, warm, sensuous lump.

So let us cast bias aside and agree

That I, without question, the King's choice will be."

Then, just as the Apple, incensed to the core,

Cleared his throat to reply, the huge icebox door

Opened wide, and the foursome knelt speedily down,

For there stood the King in his ermine and crown.

And probing inside with a dour, darting eye,

The fruits in the tray on the shelf heard him cry"

"Oh, damned be the dastardly, knavish poltroon

Who has left me this trash and eaten my Prune!"

-Frank E. Potts, Gourmet Magazine, 1972-12