A tin of plum tomatoes in my hand
I stand bemused and wonder what to blend.
An onion, bay leaf, pepper, salt and stock
Will make this beef upon our taste buds knock.
I once grew lavish bush tomatoes here.
I had forty-seven plants, the snails drank beer.
But now my garden’s filled with shrubs and trees
And rarely do I see a moth or bee.
The packaged plum tomatoes statement’s here:
Don’t waste your time on growing insincere.
But with a catalogue of fruit and flowers
I sit and meditate for these quiet hours.
I feel the same about your photograph
I will weep when any man shall pass.
