All Hail to the Raspberry Pip

All hail to the raspberry pip, survivor, desperate to

stick between the teeth; wedge itself like a pebble in

a tyre-tread; it refuses to be dissolved or shrunk,

it hunkers down, cornered, resisting a poking with

your finger-nail, and even the tooth-pick can fail.




All hail to the raspberry pip, hiding in its scarlet globule,

migrating into your mouth, a bird’s beak, a fox’s jaw,

disguised as softness, waiting to be munched, ready

for the peristalsis, the long slide through.




All hail to the raspberry pip, heading for a spot of dirt, a

railway siding, where it becomes a bramble, winding and

arching its thorny way, obstreperous enough to delay

your longing for the fruit until it has

fully scarletted.