Allotment Wisdom - February

It was John, two plots down,
I first saw unfurling great sheets
Of black roll
Breathable black plastic
Pinned down to the ground
With bricks and old lead pipes

Late October one year
November the next, after which
John, like the ground beneath,
Hibernating only to emerge
In February to inspect the bricks
Lift the roll, and sniff the soil

It was a binary life
Covers on, winter withdrawal
Covers off, sow in Spring
But there was an unease
Suppression is not deliverance
Like fire beneath the foam

The weed-seed encased in
Overwintered soil
Undisturbed lies ready
To thrust - at night it seems -
To spoil the perfection of
What looked barren

Bert, one plot removed,
Leaning on his hoe
Smiling at John, that’s all,
Left his earth to breathe
The winter air and
The foxes to run

Visited once a week
After harvest, and
Fork in hand,
Upended any weeds
Roots and all
Left them to rot