for Bill and Ben

 

On a normal day,

you’d see my stalk quiver

towards the moss-free flowerpots

which I live behind.

But underneath, there’s the legful haze

of my crazy roots encountering

worms. The furious tingle,

of spread-eagling round bricks

and buried stones oval and sea-formed

in perfection – my treasure.

My ambition? To travel.

I want to laugh

my whispery name

down your drainpipe,

to echo and boom when you

turn on your taps.

To slowly drive my legs

through rich earth,

letting a hunch of gathered snails

clatter from my leaves.