I am Benjamin Franklin

The red grapes must
taste the same to me
on this June night in
Texas, 2009, as they

did to Ben Franklin,
eating a handful in the
flickering light of his
house while poring
over books about science
and history. the same

taut smooth skin on
the tongue the same

crunch between
the teeth the same

rush of sweet juice.

I could be him. I am
him in this way. I’m
Benjamin Franklin
eating grapes. And

he was me, splitting
the fruit between my
teeth as I type into
the computer