Barry Dempster - wanting it all now

A snail’s pale nudity
soaking up the shadows of
tiny tomato plants, makes me
think of tortellini and sauce.
Bees sucking on a sweet pea,
turns into gobs of honey on toast.
Eyes closed, my tongue longs for

the difference between pumpkin
and squash, the one simmered
in maple syrup, the other oregano.

So much desire
to tend and inspire, a grand
garden of muscle and
spirit, cells expanding into thoughts.
No wonder I sometimes feel
insubstantial, shaky as a packet of seeds.

Impatience: my most prolific
perennial. Give it here, now,
from start to finish, one spurt of growth.
Instant sunflowers of success, great
Gullivers of wisdom, fish stories
of requited love. It’s not effort
I fear, but unsureness,
the egg abandoned in the straw
like an incomplete sentence.
Give me a stretch of celery stalks,
a globe of onions. Give me
morning glories like rockets
leaving their cautious parts behind.