With ungrateful
ears and eyes
we deem
little
hands and feet
bothersome,
cumbersome
unfit to rest
in the shade of our
important!
cucumber patch lives…
unfit to nestle
we wrestle
with
blades and spades
and scalpels and knives
against green peas
who hang from umbilical vines,
against green peas who defy
our cucumber worlds where
our daydreams
bake like unswollen suns
and “freedoms” yank
lives right off the vine
where
weeds
and crisp brown
leaves are
fashionable and assorted
aborted babies
are pharmaceutically-correct
commodities
where green peas are trampled
under foot
and stale winds burn
cigarette holes into
unwanted pregnancies
and no one is allowed to
say much about it…
because
we believe in
peaceful places
where cucumber tombs keep
our lives
free
keep our lives
safe
from ever having to call
a little one
sweet pea
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