Ode to a Pear

O, pear you are
juicy and awkward, requiring me
to slurp you up
before I chew. I eat you with
a pile of paper towels,
soaked through. Your bulbous bottom
bumps my lip, your tiny stem
evades my grasp, your subtle core
hides beneath pearflesh, a sad surprise
when I bite seeking more fruit and find, instead,
something new. I eat you and think
of Jelly Belly candies, of summer days, of
my mother, who loves the flavors you
imbue. I will not bake you. You are
a fruit to be devoured raw, dripping, sticky,
sweet. O, pear, you may frustrate my desires
to elegantly consume, but pear?
I savor you.