An Education in Motorway Fruit

Art by Mary Woods

That July, the blackberries gushed silt.

Full of earth they swelled on their brambles,   

tasted of slate, of chalk, of dry heat.         

I ran past the corner shop to pick them before they fell 

as nature cursed us for caring how she tasted.  

When fruit tastes of earth what else is there to do   

but to learn to like the taste of earth?       

If I fed you a spoonful before bed  

or weaned you onto it like a child

with a sprinkle on your cereal every morning    

would you laugh in a month when you found

that the berry was far too sweet?