“The Attack of the Killer Tomatoes”
I mistakenly thought was fiction
and I planted this year’s pear tomato
with blithely naïve predilection.
Egad, it grew like Jack’s beanstalk
like some overpowering addiction
forcing the zinnias and chives
to bent and yellowed eviction.
Even the pots on the deck
are muttering gruff malediction —
who knew one little tomato
could become such rabid affliction?
September 20, 2018 at 10:52 am
Have you considered Guinness World Records book? Either that or you need to start a gardening blog because those of us who had to quit veggie gardening mid summer need to know your secrets. 🍅
September 20, 2018 at 11:54 am
Guinness! Yes! I’d been thinking I should name this monster, and I do believe Guinness would fit nicely. As to my “secret,” harhar. I stuck it in the ground; that was it. I did bury it deeper than usual, though, because it was so puny and sad-looking. Maybe it grew more roots. Maybe it’s all the ground aeration from the chipmunks. Maybe it’s Maybelline.
I can’t believe you found a tomato to end with! Thanks for the laughs!
September 29, 2018 at 4:37 pm
That’s a marauding tomato. Dare I mention it does not seem to be bearing tomatoes or is that best unsaid?
September 29, 2018 at 4:55 pm
You could feel free to say it, but the fact is that the tomatoes just don’t show. They are the pear tomatoes and are relatively small (just the right size for chipmunks and their ilk) and hang in green clumps which blend in until they start to go golden, at which point I snatch them off before they can be purloined. Fortunately, there are plenty to go around. I wish, however, all these furry diners would learn to eat more neatly. I’ve got slimy tomato bits all over the place.
September 29, 2018 at 5:09 pm
That’s a relief. Not the slimy bits of course.