Encounter with Fruit

Encounter with Fruit
(a response by a disabled writer to the prompt 'get out in Nature and use all your senses to describe it')

It's as close as I get to Nature, this orange,
as I lunch in the same bed where I break
my fast and dine.

Coated in shellac, fresh from the supermarket
after a four months' journey, nevertheless
you are a grown thing, not made.

I can smell your dull sharpness.
Will you taste of disappointment? No.
Flavour lands and shuttles in my mouth.

See me chew. I am good at chewing.
I could chew for a living, if possible.
Fibres and juices are your muscles and blood.
It's like eating myself. A ritual.

Afterwards, moved with foolish gratitude,
I want vast fields of sunshined earth
where I could plant your pips.