There is no Mainstream

Some relish the challenge of marginal land,
though it doesn't make their fruit any tastier.
Others emigrate, growing crops they've never
seen before, let alone eaten. In Alaska they're amazed
by the short food chains - lichen, caribou, wolf.

Secretly they breed black tulips, won't tell
of their love that gets them through the winter,
the poisonous bulbs looking ever more like onions.
Beware of their pride in their misshapen glories -
curry can disguise anything.

Tim Love


If you have any thoughts about this poem, Tim Love   would be pleased to hear them