You’d think sooner or later I’d learn
and not trust the kid working at Feed and Seed
who assures me anything in a hanging basket
will thrive on a sunny porch.

Year after year by late June
they’re brown and drooping 
no matter how much I deadhead,
water and fertilize.

Distant memories of healty plants
on a shaded porch entice me
into thinking this year,
it will be different.

But alas, they shed, they sag, they die
a sad death before my eyes.  Unable
to face the shame, I carry them
surreptitiously, one by one

before daylight,
hoping to avoid my gardener neighbor,
and deposit them into the waiting
open maw of the garbage can.