There’s braggart in a soil plot
the politic of growing food stuff
when beans are .60 at the IGA
and it takes no pressure,
no exploding jars
no hot water bath 
and popping lids. 
One thing for granny
quite another for me

Asshole rabbits ate my
carrots, radish, beets
moths, my cabbage
birds, the blueberries
beetles, my beans
mush bugs, my squash
some smug 
little paw and smoky eye 
waits for the corn

what is this the end or something
june with so much lime and mulch 
all those poems I planned on harvesting

it’s the showing up, right
hand to the plow
attention and water 

hail, this one banana pepper

See you next June, my poet friends.