Poem #18: Garden

You can't stop

watering my garden

and expect me

to bloom.

You can't plant

exotic seeds in my well-turned soil

and then spend so much

graceful care

on each of my leaves

only to cut off

my water supply

and wonder why I've withered.

You took a months'-long vacation

to fertilize your own soul

and didn't even bother

to bring me in

from the cold

before you left.

You finally got your wanderlust fill

and come home

to a fenceless

field of weeds,

perplexed at

your reflection

in a dirty-mirrored pond.