Peas

Peas never liked any of it.

They make you suffer for the sweet

burst of green in the mouth. Remember

the hours of shelling on the front steps,

the ping into the basin? Your mother

bribing you with lemonade to keep you there,

splitting them open with your thumbs.

Your tongue finds them clitoral

as it slides up the pod.

Peas are not amused.

They have spent all their lives

keeping their knees together.