THE GARDENER

THE GARDENER

I saw him through my open window,
Bending double in the tomato garden,
With arms stretched over the fruits
Like a devoted pastor giving blessings.
He held up a weak bending branch
Laden with heavy succulent tomatoes,
Under a tout twig he gently placed it.
As a mother with a baby in her lap.

Another branch he held even higher,
But this he stood with in his hand
For it was separated from it's mother,
Broken by demonic wind, or some vicious animal.
I felt fear soldierly absorb my thoughts
As I turned my gaze to the gardener.
He shook his head and slapped his hips.
The man was angry I knew, only I knew!

He put the branch in his huge pocket,
And like a grieved one, walked to the kitchen.
I heard grandmother muttering "Kitty or hen",
My heart beat against my goose-bumped skin
As I made my way round the chalk cottage.
I met him walking with loud sorrow
On his face and his hands shook lightly,
"Sorry about your Tommy sir," I said kindly,
"Yea babe, 'em birds be tied up," he said dryly.

I raced to the garden and stood his last site,
Bent down like he had done, then up again.
On looking up the kitchen, no one in view,
I deftly took the tennis from under the leaves,
Hid it in my pocket and moved up the lawn.
A hen and her chicks watched me mournfully
And shook their heads like the gardener did.