At a time of the year when my tomato plant roots usually are reaching into the ground
Reaching past busy worms who
Know not what is the time of day
Who care not for holidays
Or working conditions for that matter
This time of year
I found myself scrambling
Potting my tomatoes from one pot to another
Ever larger -a reverse Russian doll ritual-
And apologizing every morning to a slightly wilting crowd
That I could not, must not, dare not
Plant them in the garden for
Inclement rains and tomato-breaking winds were on the way.
And during this unusual climatic journey
That went against the news of another chunk of Ice
That had cracked into the ocean,
My boiler cracked:
One repairman, two repairman, three repairman later
Electronic pieces and devices were replaced like hot cakes
Yet the boiler kept breaking down.
So every morning, even before I would say good morning to my tomatoes
I had to run down to see the boiler
Reset the time, the date and restart
The CD player to play Mozart's symphonie 41, Jupiter
And read Dante to the boiler in hope that somehow
Despite its defective state of mind
It would come to reason
Because Beatrice never committed treason
And freezing bees avoid preseason outings
When nectars are too cold or
Just not sticky yet.
After 2 weeks of this tense rocambolesque activity
Yesterday I planted the tomatoes and
Like some miracle
The boiler started working again
The connection being all too obvious.
