The Guru King of Orange

And the Avocado Queen

 

 

He was coming off a fast out in the desert, he was lean,

Heading hell-bent down the highway for the orange groves in Greene.

Not a calorie had passed his lips in five and twenty days;

His thirst was dire, his soul on fire, his hunger was ablaze.

 

There was naught but sand and cactus for a hundred miles around,

And the highway lay a flat black ribbon, scorching on the ground.

Yet the faster he would travel still his mind raced on ahead,

To the golden fruit whose liquid loot was faith on which he fed.

 

But it wasn’t hunger drove him, something passionately more

Fixed his eyes on the horizon and his foot upon the floor.

He was burning to disseminate his ‘Gurulosophy.’

The wind blew hot, his face grew taut, his beard flew long and free.

 

Then through the shimmering heatwaves (does a vision so appear?)

Just as the distance narrowed, so the dim mirage grew clear.

“Just keep on going, you mystic fool!” his guardian angel cried.

He hit the brakes, left two black snakes, and pulled up by her side.

 

“I’m the Guru King of Orange—and I’m California-bound,

And I can drink more ‘O.J.’ any day than any man around.

My ‘Gurulosophy’ is simple, very uncomplex:

Raw food inside, pure thoughts in mind—and abstinence in sex.”

 

“Well, I’m pleased to meet you, King, why, this is such a nice surprise,”

As she oozed in front beside him all her comely, queenly size.

“It seems that we’re both bluebloods—yes, it’s fate that we should meet.

But, Hon! you’re such a slim one—don’t you get enough to eat?

 

“No, you’d never know that I was once a slender, lovely teen;

So ripe and tender that they picked me ‘Avocado Queen.’

My subjects now abuse me and my ‘Royalty’ debate:

‘Did they choose you for your beauty—or the number that you ate?’”

 

“Take heed, my Queen, for oftentimes the truth is cloaked in jest;

We live on one third that we eat—the doctors on the rest.

We dig our graves with teeth of gold, and occupy them soon;

Cut short our lives, gilt forks and knives, and silver-plated spoons.”

 

“But, my dear and meager majesty, I suffer for your health;

Of flesh, you have a paucity—and I have such a wealth!”

With that she reached into her folds and conjured with a flair,

A smooth ripe creamy, dark and dreamy alligator pear.

 

“Fear not, my regal consort, keep your precious gift in hand,

For a greater glory waits for me unto the promised land.”

The King then put the ragtop Royal Carriage to the test,

And the forces of four hundred horses charged into the west.

 

The Queen said, “All this talk of food has whetted my desire,

And I fear I must indulge in something to put out the fire.”

As quickly as she’d summoned up the alligator pear,

She bit it twice, and in a trice, no longer was it there.

 

But rather than put out the flames this merely added fuel,

And a crimson blush suffused her like a polished royal jewel.

Once more into her ample bosom did the monarch reach:

Forth from her size soon realized a pomme tart and a peach.

 

When these were gone to prove the hand is quicker than the eye,

The Queen produced a cheeze soufflé, a chocolate pecan pie;

Warm toast with orange marmalade, clam chowder in a cup;

But these reserves were just hors d’oeuvres—the Queen was warming up!

 

Again and then again she dove to plumb her treasure chest,

For the culinary pearls the King once pleasured in with zest.

All riches from her larder she’d seductively display,

Then with smacks and drools these aromatic jewels were tucked away.

 

To say the King was thus aroused would understate the case,

For pain of hunger laced with lust was etched upon his face.

His pre-(and carefree) Guru days were sweetly indiscreet.

How could she know, still much less show, those sins he’d breathed to eat?

 

And yet the most entrancing sight his eyes would dare relate,

She grew slimmer, more romancing with each morsel that she ate.

Well, surely just one little taste his Guru mind can’t fear.

He drew her nigh, into a sigh—he wined and dined her ear.

 

She gave herself in offering, he wavered not that day.

Each tempting dish she proffered him was flavored with foreplay.

But now the old conundrum stirred and raised it’s head anew:

How could potent great both have his potentate— and eat it too?

 

—No, stay! with each new conquest lust had bade him realize,

The object of his dual love was so reduced in size.

Down and down, yet down she went, consumed by love’s desire,

And the flesh she spent with each descent just took the Guru higher.

 

A smorgasbord of rich delights unto his plate was piled,

And in a feeding frenzy, Christ! his appetite was wild.

He tried to hold it back but in one last climactic scene,

Could not restrain, made past her reign: Farewell…my lovely Queen.

 

 

From somewhere deep in space and time into his mind was borne,

A strident and discordant wail so much like an…… AIRHORN!

His sleeping eyes flew open! just in time to see what’s real,

And to hear the rush, and feel the crush, of thirty tons of steel.

 

As the ragtop was compacted in a shattering, screaming roar,

The Guru King of Orange calmly mused one moment more:

“There’s no doubt I’ll survive this, though my body it might maim,

But I see my Gurulosophy will never be the same.”