You have begun to scatter kernels
for the reality TV stars that congregate
in your farmyard.
No matter, so long as they leave
your garden pristine. The tap tap tap
as they feed comforts you.
You pause, drop a handful of weeds,
consider beans next year where
the zucchini is now. Measure the corn.
No way will you hit knee high
by the prescribed date, but the cast
of that Real Housewives show
still needs their nutrition. A couple
handfuls of spelt, garbonzos,
a riot of goober peas.
Robert Beveridge (he/him) makes noise (xterminal.bandcamp.com) and writes poetry in Akron, OH. Recent/upcoming appearances in Red Coyote Review, Deep South Magazine, and Aromatica Poetica, among others.