Down with the King

I’ve asked to be down with
You, Eggplant. To be down
With the slight curl
Of your skin when baked,
Like shiny black marble black
Marble glazed with cocoa
Butter. To be down with all
Of You, plural You, like how Tony
Says your name, like he does
Shrimps. Or You fried, You roasted,
You miso-glazed. You high on
Tahini and Baba Ganoush-ed.
When I weaken you, when I suck
Out your muscle in a 108-year-old
Sauce, say my Name, call me
Friend. It’s because I love you
Parmed, hoagied, Rollatinied that
I treat you this way, my sweet
Comic aubergine. I abhor the
Metaphor that exploits your name
In Sicily. I’ll go with ancient
Indian: “King of Vegetables”
Solanum melongena! Outta space!
Sometimes long and curved like
Ganesh’s* trunk. Sometimes fat and
Round like Ganesh’s belt.
You deep black purple silly-
Named Eggplant. When I bury
An egg in the ground, no chicken
Sprouts, no eggplant, so how
Did you get that name?
Of course, for the white variety,
“Easter White Eggplant,”
Missionary Caucasian Eggplant,
Always the white that drives
The stake of names for you poor
Bruised Eggplant. Call me the slurs then,
I’m not offended, I’ll be that
Eggplant-lover
Eggplant-lover.


*Ganesh is an ancient Hindu deity with an elephant head.