Garden Variety Poem Poem by Sonny Rainshine

My mother always said
(or was it my aunt Ida Rae?)
that there are two kinds of people
(both women were beautiful
but not especially original) :
Gardeners and Mean People.

Both of these sage philosophers
have long stashed away
their rakes and hoes,
but I think maybe
there is some truth there;
don’t you?

It seems to me
that you can be a gardener
without working the soil
or raising prize roses.

It’s all about tending
to something, or someone.
Gardeners, when they
go on vacation,
worry about their
flowers and vegetables
and make sure they
get enough water
in their absence.

A mother does the same
with her children.
Children do the same
with their pets.
Fathers care for their tools
and fishing rods,
as if they were blue-ribbon peonies.

It would seem that human beings
must have something to see to,
something to oil every month,
something to feed,
something to clean,
something that matters.