The neighbor talks to me as she tends her vegetable garden –
she talks at me is more like it; I hardly get a word in, you see.
She says, “All Lives Matter;” I bite my tongue,
let her ramble, not knowing what’s bouncing in that brain.
She wants to give me vegetables:
I can’t say no, so, she limps around the block and knocks
on the door, hands them to me in a greasy bag.
They’re rotten – tomatoes so soft they feel like they’ll liquefy.
We throw ‘em away – but that’s okay.
The neighbor did her good deed
and she’s satisfied.