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You are crunchy and sweet.
You make my tummy complete.

This summer you’ve been fine,
Your taste and texture divine.

O Mexico, how I owe thee
For stocking my grocery.

I’d grow you if I could,
But three months is no good.

You need nine to be prime,
And lots of sunshine.

So, I’ll eat you when I can,
And mourn when you are bland,

Or fibrous or moldy,
Or dry, brown, and holey.

I know it’s not your plan.
You prefer fresh, smooth and tan,

Juicy white betwixt your skin.
As do I my yummy friend.

O jicama, you sweet tuber.
So delightful, so super.

So raw and so right
Adorning my plate tonight.