Smirking Cucumbers [a Poem]

I planted my vegetables, for a few
years exactly where I wanted ?em
to be planted. Said to myself: if I
had to make a living and nothing
grows, no one needs to point
fingers, or be anonymous; so,
it?s my hoe, my garden?, I?ll clean
the scraps up, I?ve been at that so
long I can?t possibly wear my hands
down (so I told myself). All my life
I?ve been at it: they lay it down, I
pick it up; weedin? with a hoe-blade
isn?t easy. You try it, see!

I loaned my land out to a retired
farmer one year, who had little land
to mention, but wanted to grow
something: better than me with a
hoe he was?made whatever he
planted grow (I never could). He
even used his own water (he lived
across from me, in Alabama back in
?77).

As I stood?day after day?looking
out my kitchen window, watching
him plant, and hoe, and water, and
the cucumbers grow, (God knows
what for) ?He said those vegetables,
cucumbers he done planted would
grow fat, and huge?, and they did.
He could have shown me a few
things about planting, hoeing and
growing (back then); things I never
thought of, but I just wanted some
of those cucumbers. Funny, when
we?re young. Now looking back I
can still see that old farmer looking
over his shoulder at me: smirking.

Reflections of youth, when I lived in Alabama, back in l977-l979. #1010 1/28/2006

See Dennis' web site: http://dennissiluk.tripod.com

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