Grapes

When you eat a Muscadine,

Beware the tiny seeds.

 

Take it in your teeth, and roll it

With your tongue, and peel the skin:

It’s tasty.   Tartly soft, and chewy.

Inside, it’s a different story.

 

Sugar-sweet, but deep within

Lie three small, bitter, rock-hard bombshells,

Glad, to crack a codger’s tooth.

Much like a minefield, in your mouth.

 

If you go to your green-grocer,

Surely there’s a safer choice:

Sweet and seed-less, eat a bowlful.

Never fret, and don’t think twice.

 

But without seeds, how do they grow them?

Generations, born of clones?

So is one grape, much like another,

Never breaking from the bunch,

 

Cross-country-riding, for our lunch.

 

Naw, I’ll take the Muscadine.

A little danger, while I dine.

It’s comforting, to know I feed

On something, I could grow from seed.

 

 

 

Copyright 2018 Andrea LeDew