Victory Garden

In my backyard
shaking my head
looking down at a tomato
hanging on the vine
like an emasculated scrotum
withered
all its pulps, seeds, juices
sucked dry by greedy
hungering
mockingbird tongues.
They gut the fruit
and leave it dangling limp
empty
lifeless in the middle months
of summer on an august planet
circling past midlife
4.5 billion years and 3.5 of those
rich in life like
and unlike
me, a tomato, a mockingbird
and all the limp dangly bits
of all the limp dangly centuries
at the end of which,
the only course of action is to kill
for glory, for honor, for love of tomatoes…
This is my stand! This is my war!
This is my victory garden!

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