halfway to vinegar

you seemed so sweet – a little bit
tart, maybe, but definitely worthy
of something more
than a hurried, guilt-ridden fling
among a crowd of strangers.
those stolen tastes of you
in public
made me want more time
to enjoy you, and savor
your flavors more fully
in private.

you looked so good, so inviting
under those harsh
fluorescent lights, you could have
fooled me, and you did. once
I got you home and looked again
in my kitchen, I could see
how your pale, glowing hues –
the very ones that were once
so lovely, so fresh, so appealing,
a stained-glass bunch of juicy jewels –
were growing browned
around the edges, and
upon tasting you again I knew
you were definitely off. it seems
any sweetness you once possessed
has turned so sour,
and all your bloom has faded.

maybe it was the way
you were left open,
and many someones seem to have
gotten to you before me.
or maybe you are just
past your expiration date, but
I’m so sorry, I have
to throw you out. you’re just sour
grapes now, and I don’t
know how to make you
into wine.

Published by

R. Brookes McKenzie

what fresh hell is this

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