2wenty 2wo word harvest

 

early peas so welcomed

the first to go

dry desperate tendrils

grasping

the wiry metal fence

then yanked

without a thank you

 

withered vines break

in the wind

frost bitten

red tomatoes intoxicated

into jars

for deep winter meals

and perhaps

a blue ribbon

 

the last

green bumpy cucumber

waits alone

her young children abducted

pickles she sobs

dill I believe

humans can be

so cruel

 

anxious zucchini

hopes for a pie

no one is coming

for you

september is over

and you’re boring

so much for success

 

the growing is done

time to go

warns the crow

not for me

cries the four-eyed potato

Thanksgiving

they’ll be back

 

 

TobeTT  #22