Title: Ode to a Grape: An Exercise in Absurdity
Warnings: Crack. Fruitsalad.
Notes: Ars(e) Poetica #15. May/June 1998. 14-17 are numbered but not dated. By the content and numbers, I can place them approximately, but I make no claims to the accuracy of the dates. I’m calling it June 2, for my sanity’s sake.
This was written while I was having lunch in a pancake house that has long since been bulldozed to make way for a pharmacy.
The grape I chose was small and round and green
No bigger than my middle finger’s end
It was more spherical than most I’d seen
A set was once its colour, I contend
It tasted more like peach than I thought fair
A result of soaking with them in the can
Where flavours often mingle, and are shared
If packed together for too long a span
A juicy grape it was, I must admit
And verily, it melted on my tongue
And there inside my mouth I let it sit
‘Til from it each sweet droplet I had wrung
Another grape I doubt that I shall find
Inspiring of such processes of mind