you came to me at midday, and i bade you hello.
i gave you my most practiced smile, but your
eyes averted to that which i have created;
not the neatness of my personhood,
but that of the garden surrounding me.
thorny bushes presenting flowery daughters,
scenting the garden, drawing you in.
you stayed for a while, to admire all i'd done.
and god bless you, you paid no heed
to the dirt caked into my hands; or feigned
ignorance to preserve my pride. you picked a rose,
to gift to a lover, and we sat down to tea.
i realised halfway through a biscuit -
my shoes, just as filthy as my fingers,
did an awkward dance to hide themselves too.
still, you babbled on politely,
and i'm certain not unknowlingly.
sure, what does it matter,
when the labour of my love is luscious,
and all my neighbours can come
to admire the beauty of my blood?