there were simply too many holes for you to fill
you dug and dug
and tried in a vain effort to fill them up with clay from the playground
but your shovel was too small,
the holes appearing and reapperaring in new places
before you

pulled your hair then, scratched your forehead & sighed
I know what that means
you’re not the first one

doctors have tried to fil them with prescriptioned drugs
friends with love and patient listening
lovers with sperms and jokes
all with promises of a future I could never believe in

you threw the shovel on the ground
told me you never wanted to be an gardener anyway
and left the weed to multiply by the minute