The Red Queen as Critic
“It’s not an avocado,” sniffed the Queen.
“Inside of it is white instead of green.
Its skin is thin and far too hard to peel;
its scent could never complement a meal.
So many little stones! There should be one—
my list of its deficiencies’ not done—”
“But Ma’am,” I said, “consider rather what
it is, instead of everything it’s not.
Its glossy sheen is pleasing to the eye;
when baked, it makes a most delicious pie.
So many tastes with which it goes together!
Both tart and sweet, it pairs up well with cheddar.
Its versatility I here adduce:
when pressed, it’s metamorphosed into juice.
The Royal doctors all will stay away
if you consume a single one each day.”
Discomfited, she pressed her lips together,
for she would not be contradicted, ever.
My pleas could not decrease her curt bravado:
“What good is it? It’s not an avocado.”