"Green House of the Sick Man"
Imagining the lush, trickled and tickled
By spray of light thoughts, my healing possibly
To be that clover in full bloom again
My body looked more like onion weed
I wished for the irrigation from the botanist
These thoughts, they want to crop up as
He taps on both my knees, offering some advice
"You won't sprout from your bed for a couple days.
Don't forget ventilation, open those windows. "
My cold frame was evidence I had not been taking my pesticides
A fodder for other animals' discussions downstairs
Not ready yet, but don't put me out to pasture for them
It is my job to sell at the marketplace, rising to full radiance
Though feelings of worry might crop up, wondering
About my yield, I might yield, but never concede
I coughed up less nutrients than yesterday
Still an arable land I wish to be a legume
And be with my friends again, all peas in a pod.