Lament of an Airport Fruit Cup

I was moved by a fit of inspiration after eating an airport fruit cup whilst traveling to Seattle, Washington for my cousin’s graduation a few weeks ago. This little ditty goes out to anyone who has fallen prey to Caribou Coffee’s “fresh fruit” assortments, which give melon everywhere a bad name.

 

Lament of an Airport Fruit Cup

Oh, Airport Fruit Cup, you cost me 5 dollars,

but took so much more of my pride.

When at last I found a fork to eat with

it seemed like you wanted to hide!

‘Where the hell does this thing open?’

I asked, searching for truth in this one life.

Straining and struggling and pulling to death

you stayed shut, the start of my strife.

Oh, Airport Fruit Cup, you were leaking juice,

but from where I could not detect.

If I achieved my goal and pried you open,

Grapes, pineapple and juice would you eject?

We were crammed together in economy class,

just a breath from the nearest stranger.

The man next to be wore a tweed sportcoat;

he watched me strain and could feel the danger.

Then, hark! An Opening! Disguised as a hinge!

You opened with a warm welcome.

But your $5 price tag mocked me with glee,

and I wondered if I could be more dumb.

Your melon was tough, your grapes rather soggy,

And I really don’t mean to complain,

But the pineapple was so tough that out of fear for my bridge,

From eating, I had to refrain.

Oh Airport Fruit Cup, you triumphant bastard,

you fickle lover, you fair-weather friend.

To top it all off, you spilled on my shoes,

and that’s where our journey ends.

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