The Salad Garden

When you look, Mathematically

close enough,

You see a dysfunctional fountain,

Left to maintenance that lets it be there

for purely the reason that it once was

The salad garden and the tomato vines

grow unidirectionally

as if the gardeners whispered in

their ears, swiftly, softly

to obey a direction,

upward, upward, and then to

a rebellious left.

The bonsais outgrowing themselves

too big to be cute,

too less slender

and calculated in breadth,

A twin tomat-oo glaring

in disquiet, moving with

the hellish fury of the winds

from the north.