Two Pea Poems
They are in a row, from tallest to shortest
On the path, reaching into the pea plants, eating peas.
We are watching from the kitchen window,
Through steam from the draining potatoes.
Someone is collapsing the leg of lamb
Onto a serving platter.
Someone has set the table.
There are gleams, steam, clatter, and chatter.
‘Dinner,’ I shout to the pea eaters.
Two generations of bare legs, bare feet,
Return inside. Tane wears only a nappy.
A teary ‘Gone.’ His pod too mangled to eat.
But then he sees the feast laid out.
‘Dinner ready,’ he crows. ‘All mine.’
He climbs the side of his highchair,
Hauling himself in, clinging like a pea vine.
It was simple sowing the big seeds.
Not so simple weeding, and watching them grow.
‘No, Tane. Don’t pull that out!
We have to wait. Wait.’
What a word! That hard moaning ‘A’ sound
To warn him it’s never a good thing, waiting.
Waiting to cross the road to the playground.
Waiting for dinner to cook. Waiting to grow.
When the vines were Tane’s height coy white flowers
Turned them into bonneted people.
Then the peas, dangling like monarch butterfly chrysalises.
We took the first one inside. On the blue cloth
It looked like a pea green boat with a proud prow.
I unzipped it. ‘Stinky’ said Tane with admiration.
The two wings of the pod, flat, each held three peas.
Tane broke off each pea, one at a time,
And gobbled them up quickly
Before a yellow whiskery lion
Could come in from the garden and take them.
I had sown my seeds well.