The Fruit Plate

Once a month we gather
For some mah jongg and some lunch.
We rotate homes; the hostess
Makes a meal and snacks to munch.

But there is one tradition
That’s not open for dispute -  
Whoever hosted last must next
Provide the plate of fruit.

The plastic platter’s blue and it’s
Divided into parts
To separate the sweeter types,
Like melons, from the tarts.

The bearer chooses fruits she likes,
Arranged for their appeal.
We nosh on them before the game
And also with the meal.

Tomorrow it’s my turn to bring
The dish that’s piled on high
With varied fresh-bought produce,
So I’ll happily comply.