Concord Grapes

by Nancy Yates

On the hard wooden bench , we were sitting
side by side, waiting
for the downtown R train.
He turned toward me and stared
at the unwashed Concord grapes I was polishing,
one by one, and popping into my mouth –
fragrant fresh from the Farmer’s Market
at Union Square—
the first of the brief fall season.

A slight young man, with red cap, focused his soft brown eyes
in my direction.
I smiled a bit in recognition and he smiled a bit back.
And I waited for the right moment, waited some more and waited still,
until the R train rumbled towards us —too late now—a small heaviness.
I stood and stepped toward the train, then turned back to him,
“These are for you!” I thrust a big bunch of grapes into his hands
and ran. From behind closed subway doors, I saw his wide smile.

Nancy Yates took a poetry class some time ago at JCC and thought it would be fun to send a few poems to Voices for consideration. She now considers herself published.