Other People’s Gardens
I’ll come right out with it: I don’t see the purpose in gardening
Don’t misunderstand me though, I love plants
Nothing gives me such serenity as blooming forsythias
And I get giggly over a rose covered pergola
But making those things myself, I just don't see the need
When there are already so many lovely gardens in existence
And I’m not just talking about Versailles and the Kew
My neighborhood is chock full of charming yards
So why should I go through the effort to add another?
To weed, water, fertilize and mulch
Then wait all that time for things to sprout, let alone bloom
When I can just go sit in one of my neighbor’s gardens
And revel in their botanical achievements
For example the cape on Molly Street has fine marigolds
And its owners are practically never home to enjoy them
So in a way I’m doing their plants a service by sitting there
Keeping them company, on weekdays between 8 and 6,
When both the Land Rover and Saab are gone
And Linda and Rich Havemeyer, over on Fisher Lane
Who I accidentally met one Monday not knowing it was Labor Day
Have enough succulents to make a desert green with envy
And they’ve been kind enough to let me return
Under the condition that I not enter the house
Which I doubt has very many plants inside it anyway
On days I wake up craving ferns, I let myself into the backyard on Tully
And when its lilies that I desire, I bike over to the gray bungalow on Webber
You see what I mean now? Absolutely no need to garden
When there are so many precious green spaces begging for attention
Just sitting there, beautiful and lonely
While their owners are out working
Making money to cover the cost of our water bill and fertilizer