My Compost Piles Of Poems Poem by Ted Sheridan

There is always tomorrow
or next year___
Bruised fruit and dull cutlery
pretty much sum up your life today....
Patches of blue mold eat away
at the once beautiful red skin
of your home grown tomatoes
while you defoliate your own vines
with imported rum and weed....
C21H30O2= Tetrahydrocannabinol
and a liter and a half of Mount Gay
make for a good crop dusting
as long as you only claim not to inhale
you can pretend to be Superman....
Your love life would improve
if only the cucumbers would ripen
and that can't happen
because the rain keeps washing away
all the fertilizer and bullshit
that you spread around your plots....
and she
well she doesn't like your zucchinis
they remind her of just how bitter
your foreskin tastes
after you've screwed
every fresh little tomato in town....
Today sucked___
Life is like a compost pit
you throw all your scraps into it
and come up with another lousy poem
and some A hole calls you a genius
and a virtual cultivator of the arts.....
Go figure...and you only pretended not to inhale___
Just think of what you could do with a sharp knife......