Kiwifruit

in anzac khaki with telltale stubble

   an egg-sized time-bomb waits its moment

   precious at the pacific rim

 

would a fruit by any other name taste as sweet

   whether chinese or a gooseberry

   cut open green as pounamu

 

roll over pavlova a pas-de-deux

   by their fruits you shall know them

   pavlov gourmands stepping up for more

 

of that smell somewhere between

   arctic and tropic depending oblong

   on the tilt of a green planet

 

of that sound amidst clattery leaves

   birds abuzz depending there so long

   ripening into grateful scoopfuls