The Gardener
In the gloom of the dusty shed
he pulls faces at seed potatoes,
then shakes off their reek, snatches
back his breath from the underworld mould
and enters the sea-light of the greenhouse
where he grapples with a hose
that’s slipped his hold
--as
he’s hit by a heavy
--------jungle-smell
-----------of
yellowing tomatoes.
Next, the villain in him will show:
he’ll cut flowers for madam’s vase.
...
She’s Not Impressed
I’ve well and truly botched my laundry up:
I’ve shrunk my shirts in water far too hot -
the cuffs are flapping halfway up my arms.
Each time my chest expands--when she walks past,
she catches one more button with an ear.
As days go by she’s getting more aware,
and ducks before I’ve time to catch my breath.
I see my chances dwindle more and more,
she’s not importing any interest -
unless of course she’s playing hard to get.
