Capital I

she passed out papery marbles,
mottled, purple, flecked with green and
fingerprinted from
my anxious grip.

i scrutinize the fruit,
searching for its hidden message
along with the rest of the room.
(why are we staring at grapes?) i wonder,
but there are more
pressing matters at hand.

taste? Oh no, i’m sure i remember
the flavor of a grape, so,
so fruity, generic.
i can’t remember.
i can’t describe.

--like a stone it rests
on my tongue,
my teeth an enamel cage.

With a pop, I break the grape,
Like a firework,
Explosion, even warm from
My excited grip.
Invigorated by
The fleshy popping optimism,
I continue:
So, this is what victory tastes like.