How to be a Good Gardener- NOT - a Poem

I am a horrible gardener

But I am loved

I am loved by weeds

I am loved by bugs

I am loved by creatures that eat my plants.

I started out an okay gardener

Industrious, built a bed

Recycling, cover with newspapers

Soil and plant food

And I was ready to be a gardener.

I once had a cute little garden

Call it beginner’s luck

Handfuls of red tomatoes

A few squash, more cukes,

But not as much as gardeners want.

I always wondered how those gardeners

Get so much out of so little

8 x 8 square garden beds

Enough to feed the family

My two beds can’t feed just one.

Gardeners write books on this

I read some of them

And even try some of it

But really, inside, I just expect

My seeds to buck up and grow!

I bought the stuff to be a gardener

The mini trowels and spades—

Is that what they’re called?

The flowery outdoor work gloves.

I even got the rubber mat for my knees.

(It’s still in plastic.)

I wanted to be a gardener

I still try every year

Along with the weeds and heat

And bugs that love my leaves

And paltry stash of veggies.

I am a horrible gardener.

Black thumb and all…

Loved by my weeds

Loved by my bugs

And loved by real gardeners at the Farmer’s Market.

I am the worst gardener.

Horrible but happy

Happy to shop

Happy to buy

And forever loved

By those grocery stores that I keep in business.

I am a horrible gardener.

But I have my place.