Cherry Tomatoes

A tear trickled down a cherubic cheek,
intimating this gross betrayal.
Quick to follow, the baby's painful shriek,
rejecting food 'cos of the tomatoes.

On halcyon days its mother had enjoyed
in groves of lemon thick as pies,
the largest of reddest fresh tomatoes
and fed herself slices from a glistening knife.

So panic now fully spread, who'dda thunk,
after those whole nine months bred?
That this baby would hate such tomatoes given,
'n weep with fury and see only red?

"It's a tomato, baby," says the mother,
trying to learn what the hell is wrong.
The baby flings the slice like a frisbee
that lands on his father's computer-side cheek.

Now both parents, panicking,
tend worriedly to their little king.
"Help me try and understand, dear God,"
says father, putting an arm around the mother's bod.

Finally, first words come from the baby's mouth:
not 'mama' or 'dada' or 'bubba boobboo';
but a pellet-like shot straight to their guts
it says, "I prefer the cherry tomatoes."

Curious, dumbfounded, they ask, slyly, "Oh, really?"
The baby just nods. Another tear down cherubic cheek.
"And why cherry tomatoes, not normal, nicely sliced
tomatoes like mommy likes?" asks the mommy.

"Cos they *pop*" says the baby, smiling happily.