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.
