by Earl J. Wilcox
Today I poke around in my garden,
hover over plants suffering August
angst. My cucumbers—early bloomers,
fast growing veggies, pickles practically
on the vines before Easter each spring---
are holding back this summer. I have
watered and watched, mulched their
fuzzy vines, waited for mother plants
to give me baby pickles. Under shade
of large leaves, tiny gherkins peer up
at me sweetly, watch patiently as I
move on, snip yellow squash, pick purple
eggplant, gather more tomatoes than
Adam’s extended family could eat.
Earl J. Wilcox writes about aging, baseball, literary icons, politics, and southern culture. His work appears in more than two dozen journals; he is a regular contributor to The New Verse News. More of Earl's poetry appears at his blog, Writing by Earl.
___________________________________________
