Tears fall down my cheeks as I dice
the sweet onion,
the jalapeño burning the back of my throat.
Tossing in the cilantro, salt, and tangy lime,
it tastes just right.
Holding the alligator pear in the nest of my hand,
I glide the knife around the avocado,
twisting, unlocking it from its peel.
Releasing the pit from the creamy green flesh,
the knife slips away and finds my pale
sweaty palm.
The blood pauses, as if shocked like me.
Feeling like I just got off the Tilt-A-Whirl,
I resemble a ghost,
dressed in stitches, gauze and tape.
Not your typical hand-chopped guacamole.