This month does go on.
Outside children scream
at their mother, whatever
it is they won’t do it. No,
such an easy position
to take, just digging into
the ground. I should go
to the garden today, see
what new weeds have sprung
from bare soil, if the blighted
peas have finally flowered, if
morning glory has overpowered
all– that stealthy vine, it seems
to grow in double-time relative
to the leisurely pace of vegetables.
I too know a little about mis-paced
expectations, mostly around who
I might feed the tomatoes I’d harvest,
still only yellow stars now among too
much foliage. I’ll have to cut them
back. Thems the breaks,
but don’t I wish these days
that things broke cleaner.
[doing a cross-post thing today -- have a just-poetry blog at: optionalpoetry.wordpress.com , check it out if you are so inclined ]