Pretty Peach

The pretty pretty peach
In the wicker bowl
Looks mighty tasty.
I might want to eat it,
But it could be overripe.

The fuzzy skin glows in the warm
Afternoon sun.
It looks mighty inviting,
But it might be overripe.

What if I bite in and it bursts?
Would the juice dribble down my chin
And collect in a pool
On the table?
Or would it spurt into the sky?

How do you know if it’s rotten
On the inside?
The outside looks so golden
And perfect
And delicious.

Could there be a worm
Wrapped insidiously around its core?
What festering disease
Could be eating away at its insides?

My stomach implores me to eat it,
But I nonchalantly walk away
From the glowing orb.

I’ll take my chances some other time.