That I’d like to say: your lettuce is despicable.
There are few things more despicable than your lettuce.
The leaves have bloomed backwards
To reveal the vulnerable center of rot. This is
Irredeemable. Some would say that death is worse
Than your lettuce, that starvation and infection
And malnutrition, and the whole great train of –tions
Are worse than your lettuce, but they have misunderstood
This problem. The lettuce is not death, but it is dying.
You have forgotten this lettuce, just as you have forgotten
That yesterday you were supposed to have called some
Sick aunt in Hoboken. This is your refrigerator. These
Are the things which you have forgotten, wasting away,
Putting up their soft underbelly to the world, waiting for