Ode to the Seedless Thompson Grape
Oh Thompson you’ve done it you devilish man,
Made concords repulsive, made eating so grand.
The sensamilla of fruit I hold in my hand,
My thought is to eat it, what a great plan.
September reminds me to lay a few in,
Ten pounds or so in a Rubbermaid bin.
They might last a month (five weeks if I’m lucky)
By November my tears could turn springwater mucky.
Why cry, asks a friend, over some stupid fruit,
(I’d punch out her eyelids if she weren’t so cute).
Are you kidding I shout, have you no compassion?
How dare you insult my fruit in this fashion!
Next thing you know you’ll attack my banana,
Or musical tastes from Cream to Santana.
Back off little lady, this grape is near perfect,
It’s better than Brando or Raspberry sherbet.
Next year I think I’ll acquire a freezer
And dump this dumb broad just after I squeeze her.
Then I’ll enjoy grapes through the snow
As old vineyards wither and icicles grow.