Spoils

Tomatoes, peas, squash,
Corn, bell peppers, lima beans:

I have it all on the kitchen table
Spread thumb deep, mostly unwashed,
And a bag or two of produce left still
On the floor. I need some plan.

I need to know how to cleanse it,
How to cook it, what article goes with what.
I’m told some of it can be eaten raw.

I am rich with the stuff,
Won from an enemy’s savage gardens.
Radishes and kale.

They always had the best land,
The time to till, rational irrigation.
Each of them took space out of their days
To weed and water and cultivate.

I am a harvester. Their labor
Of this past growing season,
Both manual and by murderous machine,
Has become my gain.

I have no love for vegetables,
I am no fan of produce: but
I cherish victory, its rights,
Its lasting cultivation, the bearing

Away. Okra. And then
The worrying, stammering red of the beets.