Sitting solitary on a park bench,
he looks down at a single green grape
discarded on the ground.

Formerly part of a large cluster,
the elements prepared it for eventual consumption,
the deliciousness, the sweetness to be savored.

Now, this grape lying in the dust,
no longer desired by anyone,
will wither away into nothingness.

He so much wants to pick it up,
pop it in his mouth,
but he knows better.

"Don't put that in your mouth,"
he hears somewhere from
the distant past.

He leaves the discarded grape alone;
he too is alone,
so utterly alone.