being informed, by someone descending a stepladder
(which they fold and carry off with them)
that the grapes, as you suspected,
really are sour after all

a malicious bee’s hateful body
broken in two—
after it has already stung you

hearing, through the grapevine,
that the love of your life
(who does not reciprocate your feelings,
but who, nevertheless, thinks of you very fondly, as a friend)
is unhappy in their current relationship

the announcement of the death of a tyrant
who dies, ripe and old,
of ripeness, of eld,
after a long, happy life
spent spreading suffering and death—
lying in state;
shriveled as a raisin,
yet, somehow, still swollen with the excesses of life;
bloated from the bounty plundered,
snatched from starveling mouths