Below the lower Jordan Valley
on the shores of the salt sick Dead Sea
blooms the Sodom Apple;
Calotropis procera.

Bountiful fruit tempts a weary traveler.
Shiny rind a firm plump inclination.
Dazzling, this diamond find in a hostile desert
more edict than invitation.

The traveler, who could be you or me
or a character in an allegorical parable—
picks the fruit of terrifying absences, takes a bite,
crisp as crystal, bristling, ship rope.

Swallows the poison investiture.
Immediately the acrual
of lost equilibrium and shredded breath.

Grasps a sincere looking branch
against failing labyrinthine mediated muscle memory,
he is excoriated by the piercing sap.

He falls desperately delirious, the desert a motionless
white fog— Then the caravan of a hedge fund
passes by. The traveler begs for mercy
and is rebuked by outriders with epithets
mocking his stupidity.

He watches dimly, helplessly,
as the caravan, rapacious, and predatory,
appropriates his only camel and moves on.

The regal manager
castes a knowing glance at the dying man.