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I cut free

two final courgettes

from a tired plant

whose leaves are turning brown

from a season’s mothering

The lettuce bed,

long emptied of intended inhabitants,

has proven

neither too hard

nor too soft

but just perfect

for the weeds who came knocking

and found no one in

They’ve now strongly asserted

their squatter rights

to make it their home

and they sting and they prick

so I’ll leave them alone

till I’ve time to amass

my tools of eviction

though my gloves have a hole in

(they worked hard this summer)

and they too

will need replacing come spring

but they’ll not regenerate alone

like my green squatters will

for they were birthed

by the hand of man

their creativity dependent

on machinists and corporations

as seeds themselves

begin to be denied

their evolutionary right

to bring life back

sacred each spring

poisoned by our lust

for self destruct

so I’m not yet ready

to put to bed

my tired garden

for fear of a Silent Spring

when life’s creativity decides

it’s been ignored and ambushed

too long

and flashes an ending

‘that’s all folks.’