Handson Yabble closed the gate to his garden that day
And walked down the farm road to purchase some hay.
The milk splattered cows munched on grass in the field
As he walked down the lane and over the hill.
At the edge of the town, on a bench sat a man
Who sat elbows on knees with his head in his hands.
Handson stopped short to look him full over
And found him too thin from his foot to his shoulder.
“Sir,” said Handson “I can’t help but see
That you’re sad and surely it’s food that you need.
I’ve plenty myself and could give some to you
But my farm is so far, I’m not sure it will do.
If you will wait here I’ll go just a block
To the town market and look through their stock.
I’m a farmer by trade and I know my craft well
I’ll select some good food, I’ll be able to tell.”
The sad one looked up with tears in his eyes,
“I’d thank you if you succeed where I’ve failed when I tried.”
Handson walked a block and pushed through the big market door
And gazed at the barrels and baskets of produce galore.
He filled his string bag with carrots and celery
He stuffed it with apples and onions and berries.
He picked sourwood honey and a jar of grape jam.
He sniffed the ripe melons and selcted a yam.
At last with sides bulging he hoisted his bag
On the desk at the checkout and then hit a snag
“Encoder Encrypter here,” said the man at the desk.
He tweaked up his nose and demanded a list.
“I must have a list to code all this right.
If you don’t have a list I must stamp it all twice.”
He pulled out the carrots and stamped M3BZ.
Bananas were epsilon and grapes 123.
Unnerved by the coding, but determined to succeed,
Handson next met Inspector Protector who demanded a guarantee.
“I am here to protect,” the inspector reflected.
“Let’s take a look at the food you’ve selected.
All produce damaged from coding I must exclude.
I’ll keep these orange carrots and these berries that are too blue, too.”
Handson was dismissed to the last desk by the door.
He was left with two potatoes, one squash and no more.
The last stop was the Chief in charge of Qualifications,
Regulations, Manipulations, Machinations and Frustrations.
He sat atop a tall stack of gardening tomes.
One hundred vegetables were embroidered on his neck tie alone.
“Mr. Handson,” he sneered, “You’ve attempted to shop
At our Community Market, but qualified you are not.”
“I’m a farmer myself,” Handson firmly declared.
“I’ve grown my own food. I’m experienced, I swear.”
“I must have proof,” The Chief countered back.
“You must have good judgement to fill up your sack.”
“Look here,” offered Handson, “There’s dirt under my nails.
I’ve callouses, too, from carrying full pails.
My farm is my life and I’ve food plenty for me.
I thought I could help feed others you see.”
“Preposterous,” roared the Chief, “You don’t quialify here.
We require a green thumb to prove you are real.
The rules are quite clear on what we expect.
The thumb must be green from the joint to the tip.
The green must be lime-shaded and surround the nail.
The nail must be clean, the bed pink and pale.
Go away from our market and do not return
Until you have greeness precisely on your thumb.”
Handson left the market and returned to the park
He told the sad man, “Let’s go for a walk.”
They walked out of the town, back over the hill,
By the cows and the fence where the calm air was still.
“Come to my garden,” said Handson to the man.
“There’s plenty for you. I’ll share all that I can.”
As they stepped through the gate the man gave a gasp.
There were tomatoes, green peppers, rhubarb and squash.
“The problem,” said Handson, “The problem you see
Is the inspectors are gone. It’s just you and me.
Here in my garden are flea beetles and bugs.
Sometimes there’s wilt, catepillars or slugs.
The fruit is not perfect, there’s no guarantee,
But I eat it myself and I offer it free.”
The thin man looked up with a puzzled grin,
“Inspectors? Who’s that? Are they hungry men?
I’ll not ask for perfection, I ask only for food.
Help me now fill my tummy. That will do me most good.”
Perfection inspection will not make things right.
Green thumbs may not measure a gardener’s might.
From hand of resource to the empty hand in need
Perhaps will work best without guarantees.