sour grapes

We picked the pomegranates. I counted at least fourteen over a week ago but the fruit has been disappearing, probably because we have an elementary school 3 houses down and past the cross street: school has started and there are young fruit traffikers passing every day. The eight-foot high shrub is only a few feet from the edge of the sidewalk, unprotected from the elements and from theives. I remember the tempting pomegranate tree across the alley from our house when we lived in South Oak Cliff in the '60s. It hung just out of our ten-year-old reach, guarded by a chainlink fence and a ferocious red chow called "friskie". We could not rest til we had gained at least one of the tempting orbs and then were sorely disappointed when we discovered how little there was inside to actually eat. The necessity of spitting out the majority of the fruit's leavings was initially exotic but quickly lost its appeal.

We don't think our fruit is ripe but to salvage at least some of the crop my mom decided to pluck all. Nine fruits ranging in size from just under two inches in diameter to over three and a half inches. I cut one open. It was juicy and the seeds were red and it was sour beyond all my taste buds' liking. Better to have left the fruit for the urchins as payback.