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 '