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Thursday, 5 August 2021

a poem about lemons


consensus is that lemons do not exist.

No matter that you’ve seen them in the fruit

and veg aisle every time you’ve been

to the supermarket, nor that you make

a mean lemon drizzle cake; lemons simply

do not exist. They know this because

they have conducted numerous tests

under the auspices of the highest authorities,

the implication being that you are clearly mistaken

and that what you were dealing with

was not a lemon, but something else entirely.

Every time you've ordered a diet coke

with a slice of lemon? You’ve been bamboozled.

Misled. Every time you’ve tried to spruce up

the fruit bowl with a little bit of zesty yellow?

The circuitry has been going wrong in your brain.

Because lemons, the scientists now believe,

do not exist. Never have done.

My advice to you? Go down to the bottom

of your garden, to the lemon tree behind the shed.

Pick one, and hold its waxy smoothness

to your cheek. Inhale its floral scent.

Know it intimately. Put it in your jacket pocket,

the inside one. Close to your breast.