Mango

Mango

I know where the mangos grow
Down beside the sea,
Heavy, ripe and sticky skinned,
Hanging on a tree;
Shading out the coastline
Down Mombasa way,
Every time I taste one
In my mind I say...

“Oh yes this is mango,
The fragrance and the taste,
Nothing I have ever known
Can ever take it's place.”
I hear again the ocean,
The ceaseless rushing roar,
Clear and vivid images
Of that eastern shore.

They say it was the Portuguese
Who brought them to the land,
So they'd have this delicious fruit
At outposts they command.
And further down the trade routes
A sorry tale to tell
The mangos show where slavers went
Because they grew so well.

I know where the mangos grow
Down beside the sea,
Heavy, ripe and sticky skinned,
Hanging on a tree.
You have to suck a mango,
You really shouldn't bite it,
Or you'll get strings between you teeth
And you will not like it!

This poem is published in "One for the Pot" on Amazon.com