The Neighbor’s Vegetables (a poem)

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.

(Photo by Clay Banks on Unsplash)

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