I am ready to be done with tomatoes. Here is a poem that illustrates
my thoughts:
Tomatoes on my Windowsill by Robin Benzle
Tomatoes on my windowsill,
Lined up like happy soldiers,
from pale green as Key lime pie
To red as sunburned shoulders.
They seem to smile at the sun,
While they patiently a-ripen.
And when I do my kitchen chores,
I smile back, enlightened.
One by one I take them down
From their nest upon the sill,
And add them to a salad or
Perhaps a sauce with dill.
Then to my garden I return
To pluck another load,
And tenderly I line them up
On that shelf in my abode.
No sooner do I get them shelved,
Than my garden calls me back.
They're ripening all at once, I think,
As I stuff them in my sack.
So I give them to my neighbors and
I give them to my friends.
I give them to my enemies,
Just to make amends.
Soon, I note, they're turning red
So fast it makes me ill.
From off the vine, they drop like flies.
My plot looks like road kill.
Tomatoes on my windowsill
All rotting in a row.
I never though I'd say this but,
"Where the heck's the snow?"
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