O,
African wonderdeath pepper, your size in no way foreshadowing the
destructive capacity you harbor within, why do you haunt my
dreams?
O, diminuitive red teardrop, capable of releasing the fires of a thousand suns, wherefore your hatred for the innocents you have this day harmed?
Do you possess some emnity, as yet unguessed, towards your fair-skinned owners, far from home and susceptible to your trickery and corruption?
Has the power of love and mercy remained unknown in your distant land and given all over to cruelty and death?
O, scourge of tastebuds and ravager of digestive systems, how can you even now lie so meekly upon the table, luring passers-by into your inescapable jaws?
O, crimson tide of spice, sorrow, and pain, when we and the captain of a local skiff chanced upon you on the shore not four hours gone, how were we to know the events that would follow?
O, you of intensity that burns beyond all imagination, when we greedily filled our pockets with the fruit of your tree, was the seed of hatred then planted that would bring about our demise?
Was the scorn we laid upon the mild sauce stewed from your brethren a thorn in your mottled gleaming side?
Should we have evinced more respect towards the potency we knew of not before this fateful hour?
O, unhappy merger of brutality and artlessness, did you grin in evil anticipation as we lifted you high and began to drop your willing form towards our mouths?
O, forsaken offspring of Satan, as you were crushed between eager jaws were you aware of the potency escaping through your broken skin?
O, unquenchable all-consuming flame, as your heat grew and peaked, did you feel some grim satisfaction in the accomplishment of your nefarious task?
Were the cries of “oh God make the burning stop” as music to soothe your wounded soul?
Are you even now plotting some new revenge against which we poor outsiders will be unable to defend?
Should I eat another one?1
O, diminuitive red teardrop, capable of releasing the fires of a thousand suns, wherefore your hatred for the innocents you have this day harmed?
Do you possess some emnity, as yet unguessed, towards your fair-skinned owners, far from home and susceptible to your trickery and corruption?
Has the power of love and mercy remained unknown in your distant land and given all over to cruelty and death?
O, scourge of tastebuds and ravager of digestive systems, how can you even now lie so meekly upon the table, luring passers-by into your inescapable jaws?
O, crimson tide of spice, sorrow, and pain, when we and the captain of a local skiff chanced upon you on the shore not four hours gone, how were we to know the events that would follow?
O, you of intensity that burns beyond all imagination, when we greedily filled our pockets with the fruit of your tree, was the seed of hatred then planted that would bring about our demise?
Was the scorn we laid upon the mild sauce stewed from your brethren a thorn in your mottled gleaming side?
Should we have evinced more respect towards the potency we knew of not before this fateful hour?
O, unhappy merger of brutality and artlessness, did you grin in evil anticipation as we lifted you high and began to drop your willing form towards our mouths?
O, forsaken offspring of Satan, as you were crushed between eager jaws were you aware of the potency escaping through your broken skin?
O, unquenchable all-consuming flame, as your heat grew and peaked, did you feel some grim satisfaction in the accomplishment of your nefarious task?
Were the cries of “oh God make the burning stop” as music to soothe your wounded soul?
Are you even now plotting some new revenge against which we poor outsiders will be unable to defend?
Should I eat another one?1
 |
| Why dost thou glisten in feigned harmlessness like ain't nothing the matter? |
1 Sam's
contribution to this post: “Captain Dixon picked a peck of piri
piri. They weren't pickled. That's, uh, all I got."
Megan's reaction: "He's got a lot of time over there, doesn't he?"
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