Sliced Lime
by Alan Greenwood

The standing side reveals
so many triangular, stain-glass
jaded windows.

Three seeds near the center
stare out like the eyes
of curious parishioners.

The fruit spits when sliced,
driving an acid tear to his face.

The two halves like pieces
of a lovers' necklace, where each
keeps half. The knife serrations
leave the same edge,
as the saw-toothed ends
of the two medallions.

The nearby, tequila bottle
holy water squeezed from
_____ a desert cactus.

Nearby, the splay of salt crystals
designated to stamp away
the liquid's sinful sweetness.

The lime retrieved, teeth sink
into its bitter fruit, for the lack
of knowledge that lays within.

Nearby, the knife that started
all this repetition--

And could, if with a single slice

Copyright © 2022 by Red River Review. First Rights Reserved. All other rights revert to the authors.
No work may be reproduced or republished without the express written consent of the author.