SmashinFruit

Smashing Fruit

Vine

barren
after the hard winter,

licked warmly by spring rain,
bud burst
promising fecund joy.
Daily
fragile delicately- webbed leaves
unfold softly,
imperceptibly
tiny fruit emerges
specks at first
then rounder
and rounder
and coloured deep purple black
juice pushing outwards
straining against the skin
full and proud.
Embittered calloused hands
tear madly at the vine
grind the fruit viciously,
split skin and pulp
a ruined ooze
purple juice splatters
onto the ground, so hot
that steam rises,
and that's all that's left.

Every year the same.