The Ripener

He ripened fruits with just a look.
The apple browned within the hour.
The orange challenged him a bit,
But in return, he’d take a gun,
Arrest the orange tree at noon,
And warn it with police-like shouts,
Until it dropped its fruit grenade.
He’d move in with the stealth of cats,
Inspect the bomb with army shoes,
Ensure the pin was in its place,
And pick it slowly in his hand
To turn it till he found the dent
In which the fruit had peed itself.
Securing pistol underarm,
He’d tear the rind around the bruise
And look at it with focused eyes.
The orange browned within the hour.

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