Espaliered vines hang like convicts,
strung out in the vineyards as portent
to passers by.
But the tasting rooms are open with cheeses,
retribution and grim justice –
verdicts of wine.
I see them, the tasters, the gawkers,
giddy on the road for sips of vengeance
I see them, glued to the glass,
glued to the crushing of grapes,
and calling it justified.