Put the tap where a man won’t bleed

you plant your hedges like
you’re building a fortress

like the tap is a treasure you need to come at with a hatchet.

roses.
agave.
that bougainvillea bastard.
a whole medieval army
guarding a weathered spigot.

and me,
crawling through thorns
with sunburnt arms
scored like Peruvian pepper bark
just to give your geraniums
a goddamn drink.

it’s not hard.

just leave a little room.
a chastened niche.
a breath of space.

I ain’t Moses
parting the burning bushes.
I’m a man
with better things to do
than bleed
for your begonias.