I remember the days
of cantaloupe disdain
the subtly orange flesh
hidden within rough rind
the challenge of cutting
is the knife sharp enough?
the hazards of a roll
or a slippery skip
melon balls seemed pretentious
an artform designed
for luncheon hosting ladies
with excessive time, anxious
and crystal bowls galore
silver melon balling scoop
while rough hewn wedges
are cookout relegated
I cannot quite place the moment
the initial acknowledgement
of gustatory potential
in the subtly sweet
juicy crunch
while avoiding the
chin drip
napkin at the ready
the flavor evades
easy categorization
less a sensational standout
than a comforting backdrop
a hint of summer soothing
without ice cream guilt
accommodating
to multiple pairings
to imagine you
as a cantaloupe
littlest melon
is incongruous
having grabbed my attention
riveted all my senses
in definitively
uncantaloupian fashion