Repot that plant, you. It sits across the table
breakfast lunch and dinner every day
at armslength silently shrieking
for attention more concrete than a glance.
Were it not a species happy to be tightly bound
this would already be a matter of past tense.
The last time this notion took hold
it was potted wrong so that crooked
and unbalanced were the words for the day.
Live with the bend of a stem set rigid in contortion
as the head of this thing seeks ever
to show its face to the sun.
The plant will live at least a while longer.
Think to be embarrassed just a little
that this gimpy living thing
sits where it cannot be missed
dressed in an empty cottage cheese container.
Never mind that bit of pride at your miserable
efforts to recycle. Good intention can be misplaced.
You are drowning in it.
Over-water, under-water, sunshine and dark,
invest in plants with
a little of their own resourcefulness.
This one will live: repot it.