My green thumb is borrowed—
Spray ’em down every day, in the
morning, before it gets too hot.
Don’t wanna shock ’em to death—
First casualty? Well, maybe. 
Over-watered, under-watered,
what’s the difference?
Hard soil, yellow leaves, dripping
dripping, wilting. Wilted, passed out
in the hanging air. Christ, it feels like
a convection oven out there. 
Breathe in, breathe out, 
pant, pant, pant. 
Dead, waxy leaves. Dead? 
How long ’til I have to call it?
Hanger, in the sun, 
pink flowers and waxy red leaves.
Dead, for all I know. 
when do I call it in? Check for a pulse
tomorrow?