Asparagus

The final stalks

Left soaking, salty, on my plate.

I don't appreciate their snappable ends

Who are a reminder of all that's grim.

The sour taste of an unloved vegetable;

Dissolving slowly amongst the gravy

And warm smell of roasted potatoes.

I've grown up and around them -

The Brussels Sprouts have found a place

In the pecking order my peas will be enjoyed

Among spinach;

Broccoli, even.

There's a spot for the drowning beans,

I'll let the gravy distract

And given minutes, they're gone.

But the poor, poor asparagus stalks

Are the reminder of the hardship.

The fight past eggplant and avocado, ghastly!

There's always more to hate

Veggies blamed; a dangerous outcry.

Don't forget about the final stalks

The lonely bowtied asparagus

With the faint tang of salt -

It's lonely too, in the big wide world.

Pestered and picked at;

Never enjoyed.

There's beauty in being the favoured food;

The one in the spotlight for every nutrition -

But the journey of the asparagus stalk

Leaves us wondering

Where the leafy-green feud came from.

~