Grapes, a poem by Julius Chingono

Julius Chingono












Today I was fortunate
to stumble upon a vendor
sorting out grapes for sale.
He separated
the good from the bad
on a plastic sheet
spread on the pavement.
He gave me the ones
that he thought were foul.
I sorted the grapes
in my mouth.
I spat out
those that were bad
but my tongue
did not find
the grapes all that bad.

It's just that
the broken ones
had less juice
and the over-ripe
had an odour.


1. Po�frika interview with Julius Chingono: here
2. Another poem by Julius Chingono on Po�frika: 'It denotes'
3. Another poem by Julius Chingono on Po�frika: 'False tooth'

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