The day five prompt at Poetic Asides was “write a vegetable poem.” The inspiration for the following was my stepdad, David, who relished showing off his elephantine vegetables:
WHAT HE GREW IN HIS GARDEN
He was proud of his vegetables
to an obscene degree
where size was concerned. He loved
to appear in the kitchen doorway
hauling a three-foot zucchini, deliberately
indifferent to Freudian suggestions.
It wasn’t just length; he cradled
hefty tomatoes, like several fruits
melded into one multi-cheeked globe,
and mutant potatoes
swollen as troll’s feet
full of bunions. His wife
kept trying to convince him
that size didn’t reflect quality,
that huge specimens of harvest
weren’t tastiest or easiest to cook.
Soon, though, he’d be back
with club-like cucumbers, his face
flushed with achievement,
before he lugged the dirt-caked cudgels
to impress the old man next door.