I like to try exotic fruits, you said.
That’s how it all got started.
You brought over the first can of Goya
In January; I remember it was snowing.
We couldn’t open the damned thing;
Fuck this mango juice, I said,
And that minute the thingy popped up.
I split the nectar between two Styrofoam cups;
(I hate doing dishes; I don’t own any.)
It was OK.
From then on, it became a tradition.

First, you brought over papaya, peach,
Strawberry-banana, and kiwi.
It was pretty safe.
But then you got brazen.
I had a bad feeling about guava
From the get-go;
It sounded funny and smelled even funnier.
You gulped your portion, like a shot of Stoli.
I, on the other hand, almost vomited.
I looked at you, you looked so happy.
Do you like it? you said … I didn’t want to ruin
Your Goya moment, so I said Sure, and
Licked my lips; Good acting.

It got progressively worse;
Plantain juice made me think of a cat
I saw peeing under an oak tree that morning.
Guanabana made me wish for a shot of
Novocaine in my taste buds.
The Goya joy ride came to a screeching halt
One warm afternoon in April.
It was the tamarind that did it for us.
We drank up at the same time,
Slamming the Styrofoam cups against the table.
There was a pause.
I stifled a gag reflex.
I was trying to read your face.
We were looking straight at each other.
This tastes like shit! You blurted out, suddenly,
Just as I uttered these same magic words.
You threw the can into the garbage.
I wanted to kiss you . And I did.