Our Compost Bin by Smith
He used to exhibit total disregard, utter unawareness and nil
worry for the emotions that poured like raw honey into
morning cereal in a blue ceramic bowl on wood slab table
sitting near the spoon in shafts of early light.
Now he is closed like a mortar locks in.
His mind porous as rock but theres no tellin
what lies in such miniscule holes.
I climb thru brambles to set against the cool white
shed, looks out on winter beets and cabbages.
This summer my new neighbor gave me a watermelon
he grew so chockfull of seeds, black ones,
as well as white.
There was not a centimeter of fruit unadulterated
by the buggers!
It took right near an hour to rid the pink tumid
flesh of them, so I cld finally pour what was
left of the fruit into my first bottle of gin
in many years.
Three mugs in, I texted him.
Said, ‘Boy, I think I cld fall right in love.
Got magic spells? A tincture? To make sure
I dont?’
He answered, ‘Careful girl,’ which I took
in my gin beams to be flirtatious. So
many sheets in, I did not see
the yellow lights or cold coffee
of my future
when Id be so consumed
as to forget
to drink while it was still hot.
~ Bree