In Defense of Aubergine
For Josh Corey

Adam was in a restaurant in Cape Town
when he noticed something upon his plate:
a glossy fruit, a curious mad apple,
and the wild purple on the pure white
reminded him of eggs in a secret garden.
There — lightly sauteéd — the mysterious aubergine.

Eve watched him delicately slice the aubergine
into neat quarters.  The Cape Town
afternoon swept across the restaurant garden
as sunlight danced upon his plate.
Adam speared a slice, carried it from white
to his mouth like a shiny forbidden apple.

And the “oh” of it was a tender apple
bush, that bitter-sweet aubergine.
The table cloth was blue, the sky was white
as silence seemed to rule that Cape Town
patio where Adam cleaned his plate
bite by bite, like birds in a garden.

Eve was thinking of summer jazz in the garden
of another eatery, near the Big Apple.
What was the name? — she had the salad plate —
ah, she knew it now — it was the Aubergine.
Well, that was a world away from Cape Town
where the sea is blue & the waves are white.

“This is good,” he said, his eyes shining white
as his left hand swayed like a garden.
He was thinking of leaving Cape Town
for it was no longer a diamond apple.
But for now, he was lost in aubergine,
lost in the disks left on his plate.

Eve had already cleaned her plate
and was waiting for a soft white
chocolate mousse. She'd had no aubergine
that was not fresh from the garden.
For dessert, she ordered an apple,
a foreigner in Cape Town.

They left Cape Town, and Adam's plate,
sharing the apple and the white
sky. Left the garden, blessed by aubergine.

2 May 2004