Fertile Decay

<p>Many poems by Glory Cumbow like this:</p><p><br></p><p><strong>Fertile Decay</strong></p><p> </p><p>I'm ready.</p><p>It's time for a compost pile.</p><p>First come the eggshells </p><p>that I had to tiptoe on</p><p>so as not to offend you.</p><p>Then come the dry leaves</p><p>from the bushes I had to beat around</p><p>so that you never had to face the truth.</p><p>Next are the banana peels</p><p>the traps of deceit </p><p>you laid down to slip me up.</p><p>After that I dump in the clippings</p><p>that I had to cut down </p><p>to reveal your identity</p><p>as a snake in the grass.</p><p>Finally I sprinkle in the ashes</p><p>from the letters and pictures</p><p>that I set aflame.</p><p>This pile is rotten </p><p>reeking of death.</p><p>But my oh my</p><p>just wait and see</p><p>the life I will be able to grow</p><p>from this fertile decay.</p>