April 18: A Polite Pineapple

If every word or action
could be decoded, we introverts,
happily quiet in these days of quarantine,
would wish for pineapples
to give those friends who
yet stop by.

For long ago, when travelers came to
plantations by coach,
and visits were measured
by weeks and months,
each morning, a fresh pineapple
would appear in the visitor's room,
perfectly sliced, juicy
and with a silver spoon.

Until that morning when
two pineapples arrived:
One to enjoy this morning
and one for the road.

"Pineapple" by ssenjakelabu (Pixabay)

Today's poetry prompt from Writer's Digest poet Robert Lee Brewer for National Poetry Month asks us to write a poem about a message, perhaps the message itself, how it was received, or what ever came to mind. This prompt reminded me of summer driving trips through the southern United States, where each plantation featured pineapples carved on the gateposts. I'm thinking now of a fruit salad for supper. No fresh bananas. No pineapple.