Eating Mangoes While Naked

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(fooled a bit with the format, this is not a poem)

I saw a book with the same title sometime ago,
and it's the most apt title I've got to describe
what I'm doing right now.

I am eating mangoes very early in the morning
wearing nothing but a towel.
Technically, I'm not naked.

I just got out from the shower and
nobody in the house is awake yet.
The house has this kind of stillness that's a bit
magical because it seems to be promising
many wonderful things for the next 24 hours.

Somebody saintly
bought fresh ripe mangoes yesterday and
they were as sweet as heaven.
I had a craving for it first thing this morning.
While taking a bath, I knew
I just had to have it immediately ---
ergo, my present state.

I just opened a window and
a shock of green greeted me as
I surveyed the fields surrounding our house.
Now, the mango's skin is so flawlessly yellow.
My towel is so garishly red.
My human skin is pink in places I scrubbed too hard on.
Oh my, I'm going to have a colorful day.

There's this fantasy I have when I'm
eating mangoes.
I know that it's an expensive fruit elsewhere,
let's say Switzerland.
So what I do is, I imagine myself
eating mangoes in Switzerland
where only the really privileged could get a taste.
When I do that, I don't feel so poor.
When I do this, I feel sickeningly happy.

I love ripe mangoes! Yum!

Suffice to say, I also revert to my
six-year-old soul speak when I'm happy.
So there'd be no witty, sarcastic closing today.
All I have is this and you might as well
deal with it:

Oh yum! Life is good!

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