Bitter Taste

I ate the sour grapes and tried
to forget them as I walked to the
field, kicking the dust, the smell
of smartweed hot in my nostrils.
A striped gopher whistled,
grasshoppers snapped from the grass,
a bullsnake pulled his spotted rope
across my path, a bobolink rode
a timothy stalk, grain ripened
under the wind. I breathed
deeply, unclenched my hands,
spread them to the sun, felt
comforted by facts, but my mouth
tasted bitter all afternoon.