—
Here are my hands, pulling apart the arms of the
Berry bush, to find this little blue planet.
If I don’t take you now, sweetheart,
You are dead. I see your little sister
Squashed flat in the hay under my
Baby’s Keen sandal. So I’ve come out here in the
Wednesday morning to give you
Your ending. I might drop you in the
Box or just as well eat you right now
But what difference does it make?
The answer to your question isn’t in the
Planting or the weeding or whether or
Not that tired farmer sprayed you
Undoubtedly with Roundup. By the time
The Berry Ferry comes full circle to
Fetch us and the rest of the harried
Mothers, here you will be, come
Full stop at the end of your
Life sentence.