The Gardner Poem by Bryan Hoy

Bit by bit of piece by piece of man and men and me.
She dines well tonight.
She grows her food in a private garden,
tended to with the utmost care.
Day by day she chews and prunes,
prunes and chews.
The weeds are the fortunate few.

We are a strong crop this year.
She's getting better.
She uses better manure now,
digested bits of digested men.
She's got plenty in the compost heap.

A tireless gardner with endless fields.
She'll get us all, I'm sure.
The ones she misses will rot away
in some motel room, alone, craving the touch of her green thumb.