They say now that the forbidden fruit was not
An apple so much as a sort of mango. Preposterous!
In my hand is the very apple, two bites out of it
Just as Eve gave it to me. She'd picked it up
From where Adam dropped it and kept it
For centuries, passing it along from one version of her
To the next. The apple, I must say, still looks
Pretty fresh. Eves, though, are not obliged
To stay unwithered. Soon enough someone --
You, perhaps? -- will come by the museum
And stop a moment in front of my picture:
"Probably Annis Cook, Holding An Apple."
If you're kind, put something in my suddenly empty hand
A snuff-box, say, or perhaps a mango.
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