Brussel Sprouts
When the February sky is weighty with clouds and the wind,
a ferocious animal, knocks over fences and rickety sheds,
rushes rubbish down streets, rocks trees madly,
tears off their branches and crashes any it can to the ground,
when the paper is packed with such grim news
you throw it out, take a bagful of Brussel sprouts,
those small globes that grow on thick stalks
topped with floppy leaves. You’ll be surprised
to discover these hardy winter characters
are axillary buds from which long stems would sprout
and yellow flowers bloom if they’re left in the ground.
Pick one up, hold it between thumb and index finger,
gaze at its fresh-faced shine and consider its construction
which is more subtle than a work of art. Feel
the dense layers, they fit together more tightly
than the dressing gown and duvet you pull round your body
as you lie in bed in the winter trying to fend off reality,
more tightly than a rosebud’s many petals. Simmer
these small vegetables for a few minutes, then sit down
and savour the warmth and goodness of each tiny ball.