In this cold clay thrives a hot little vegetable,
the radish, the sensualist. When you wash it,
letting water trickle over its swollen root,
you make it very happy.

When you’re dull, pull half a dozen.
They’re crowded anyway,
gaining weight in all this rain.
Eat them red and plain.

Or eat them sliced and white.
Bite them and they bite you back—
you like that; resistance sharpens the appetite.
Attribute this blush to the effect of radishes.