Oh, delicious siren of the produce aisle,
your alias, “Vegetable,” above.
Come, let me pick you from the bunch.

I’ll run my hands around the contours of your shape,
checking you for holes,
bruises,
dirt.

“I’ll take this one,” I say,
bagging you up,
twist-tie tight.

How softly you ride,
in the front seat of the shopping cart,
alone with the eggs.