With ungrateful 
ears and eyes 
we deem 
little
hands and feet
bothersome,
cumbersome
unfit to rest 
in the shade of our
important!
cucumber patch lives…
unfit to nestle 
we wrestle 
with 
blades and spades 
and scalpels and knives
against green peas
who hang from umbilical vines,
against green peas who defy 
our cucumber worlds where
our daydreams 
bake like unswollen suns 
and “freedoms” yank
lives right off the vine
where
weeds
and crisp brown
leaves are 
fashionable and assorted
aborted babies 
are pharmaceutically-correct 
commodities
where green peas are trampled
under foot
and stale winds burn
cigarette holes into 
unwanted pregnancies 
and no one is allowed to 
say much about it…
because
we believe in 
peaceful places 
where cucumber tombs keep
our lives 
free
keep our lives 
safe
from ever having to call 
a little one 
sweet pea