The lemons in the still life were beckoning me,

so shiny, so sour and full of a certain je ne sais quoi.

The limes were meh, so-so.

 

The lemons felt justified I think.

I’m not sure why.

Perhaps they felt stronger than the limes,

whose green skin was slowly fading in the bright sunlight from the window.

 

I’m not sure why fruit should feel so self-righteous.

Perhaps the lemons feel they are more useful than the other fruits

lounging in their exotic purples and reds

in their more perfect roundedness.

 

Perhaps it is the pressure to ripen in too short a time,

I really don’t know.

 

I guess the fruit doesn’t get to choose which side of the bowl it is arranged in,

or have any say at all about the talents of the painter.