The rude vegetables are up to
no good again, succumbing
to irresistible inflations, their
growth-tips, tautly congested,
full of pregnant suggestion
and promise; mutating buds,
tinglingly alive with genetics,
obey (with slight infractions)
their guiding principle, bristle
with fresh implementations
of themselves; rooted in dung-
sweet earth, they reach their
swollen extensions up to my
window and give me the finger.
Featured at The Red Wheelbarrow on 24 November 2022
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