WATERMELON SEEDS

Hey, y’all!

For the final day of National Poetry Writing Month, the prompt is to:

Write a poem in which the speaker is identified with, or compared to, a character from myth or legend, as in  Claire Scott’s poem “Scheherazade at the Doctor’s Office.”

WATERMELON SEEDS

By Farah Lawal Harris, 2024

Have you heard of

the girl who swallowed fifty black watermelon seeds?

In 9 months, she birthed sugar babies.

We celebrated the spreading of vines at a jubilee

alongside her brother whose eyes crossed so long they got stuck

because their mother broke a mirror that gave 7 years of bad luck.

Watermelon babies are quite a sight to see—

nothing like Sambo or Topsy, but simply red and sweet,

tiny tasty fruit soft enough to squeeze.

But when the young lady walked the babies down the street,

one of them split the pole.

Oh, no! A black cat slinks by.

A torrential downpour arrives by surprise.

They finally make it inside with the umbrella wide open.

You see where this is going?

Be careful eating watermelon.

You may swallow seeds you ain’t ready to raise,

lest they get stuck in the chewing gum you swallowed last month.