Tonight's Poet Corner: Green

Green
by Belinda Roddie

She claimed she was a vegetarian,
yet her eyes grew red at the sight
of a medium rare steak. She spent
far too much on handbags,
but at least she looked good with them.

She broke your heart three times
and then crushed it for good measure,
like that rusty garlic press you still,
for some ungodly reason, keep
in your claustrophobic mess of a kitchen.

When you agreed to start gardening
and grow rosemary for cooking,
she let the weeds snag the soil like bad teeth.
When you took up planting tomatoes
and squash, she wouldn't touch them.

She preferred French fries and
fast food salads. She also preferred
your brother, your next door neighbor,
and your ex-girlfriend from high school.
The cypress tree in the backyard somehow

always makes you think of her hungry gaze.
You're not sure you wanted to keep gardening,
but hey - at least those cucumbers you grew
wouldn't fuck you in the ass as hard
as having her in your life did.