the garden

to discuss the state of it all.

they wait for the mint,
who is bringing refreshments,
but are always late.

arriving with the 

a pineapple plant sticks out
its tongue from under
the window
 
daring me to believe
it is spring
and that pineapples will grow
 
in the desert.
dried up sage plants talk
amongst themselves,
 
planning a mutiny if they
don’t get more cover.
(pineapple sage i think)
 
and they conspire against me
meeting with sagging tomatoes

succulents from the other
side of the bricked walkway.

i’ll hear them until late 

in the night,

the strawberries always 

 
talking out of turn.
and in the center of the fray,
is that damn pineapple top
 

who’s yet to lay roots
there, beneath 

the open window.