That Tutti-Frutti Hat

Shimmying fruits crowded on a tropical hat,
a flippant hand finds beneath them
in a bash, a woman ripening
to be smashed, blueberry dark...

chic-a chic-a boom boom
chic-a chic-a boom

Exotic figs, grapes,
“Bananas is my business.”
Hop on for the ride.

Strawberry edging on a straw brim,
pineapples crooning to top
an Amazonian full of carioca
and black dance for whites.

chic-a chic-a boom boom
chic-a chic-a boom

Banana samba
shrinking her to a doll-like,
chilled fruit festival.

"Guavas?" Yes, on platform shoes doing high kicks,
alluring legs, cleavage showing bitter melons,
swaying to the band of the moon.
A fiery, garish cartoon.

chic-a chic-a boom boom
chic-a chic-a boom

Upbeat magenta
raspberries pursing their lips
the morning after.

The scheme of the fruity theme,
apple, plum, and cashew brew for the potent witch;
to throw herself in the pot, a nut
for a papaya pep-talk of frills and thrills.

chic-a chic-a boom boom
chic-a chic-a boom

Mango to tango,
florid femininity
in subtle pathos.

That tutti-frutti hat with mama under,
a talent tapping, bringing laughter
to war-torn insides from buried sources,
with ghostly images dancing.

chic-a chic-a boom boom
chic-a chic-a boom

Yellow bananas
to define her, to confine
where dark shadows hide.

In the language of the spectrum,
only the rejected color dazzles; though, not so fallible,
if in peeling the skin with a tender touch,
a life has borne some fruit.
“E o Mundo Não Se Acabou" (...And the World Hasn't Ended)

chic-a chic-a boom boom
chic-a chic-a boom.