It’s a shame that it all has to end
like this, me in these dirty jeans,
pulling up this garden that has died

of circumstances. This finale is so tired,
such a played out metaphor;
girl leaves boy, boy lies on couch,

vegetables are strangled by rogue
morning glories and begin to parch
in the dry sun of the summer.

Then the boy thinks of leaving too,
boxes up his life, sweeps out the house,
shuts off the power and returns

to the garden that he planted
to show her that he could do more
than just eat words and throw them back up.

And I should have done this first, but everything
got mixed up like everything else and I’m
stuck here without so much as a shovel,

pulling up everything by hand, eating
cherry tomatoes that have somehow
withstood. The zucchini plant has taken over

a corner, so prickly, weighed down
by five pounders that have molded.
The ears of corn have withered on the stalk

and are covered by bugs. The chamomile
which I promised tea from, is dry like hay,
not one flower missing.

The carrots, beans, cucumbers, strawberries,
all ripped up, leaving just the cayenne plant,
the first one in the soil after the thaw.

The peppers have dried and are as dark as blood.
I pick three off and tuck them into
my shirt pocket, to allow

this metaphor to extend even further.

By: Sid Miller

A poem that I really seem to like.

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