The  grumpy little curmudgions

squat there in their sandy soil

not a word of thanks for saving them

when their feet were rotten

with too much high living

They think they’re so cute and

independent,

eyes closed,

backs turned.

nobody flowering here

or throwing a party.

pretend they don’t need me

thank you.

I have a drip gardening system

and I’m the drip.

Into each pot I drip a sip

of non-potable gleanings

from my baths

carried, not always lovingly,

down the stairs, and rationed.