The prickly pear and yucca
dug from a roadside
do fine in pots. Sun,
sunflowers. The August heat.
Petunias, pinks, and even the geranium
probably don't belong. With watering
they hold on. One morning
I fed them organic fertilizer
made entirely of sea-going fish.
I hosed the place till the hanging baskets
dripped and the fence soaked dark.
There rose the brackish smell of bays
and wharves and I turned my head
to the distance as if to hear
the regular slapping of the sea.
* * *