Philosophy as the Pretext

The owner hissed the boy to attention:
Wàiguó pengyou has come for fruit. The foreign man
wants oranges, bananas, and a big pineapple.
Cut? he says--meaning out of its spiked shell.
Yes, of course, I say and watch him dip his knife
in a bowl of water, shake it twice, and slice
an end here, a meaty stroke down, then circling
the blade to create a spiral wonder, trickling
juice into the bag. I cannot wait to feel it on my tongue
the flesh against my teeth, crisp and young,
not too sweet, but sweeter than a strawberry.

As I approach my gate I think about your bravery,
the first time; I think: If only I had been as deft
with a blade shaving off the crust, to see what’s left
when the thorns have been shorn. Could I stare
at the succulent meaning of you, you--bare,
bereft of happiness, convention, and defense?
What was the meaning of delight, or permanence?