Harvest

When the siege and as­sault
had ceased at Troy, Aeneas
paid me a visit. I of­fered him
some plan­tains and he told me
“veg­eta­bles are what
food eats.” He strode around
my wat­tle and daub, gri­mac­ing.

Pulled on white gloves as if
it were in­spec­tion day,
my bil­let a mas­ter work
of jack­leg en­gi­neer­ing. He
asked if I was still a loyal Son
of Ilium 

and opened my cup­board.
                       He asked:
“Do you have any whisky?” and
“This place is far too dirty. You
must clean it

if I am to stay the night.”
I wanted to ex­plain that my home
was made of dirt; that I had
no meat to provide. Yet what
does one say to our sav­ior? My
hand grips the sickle. There are
crops to get in.


The first clause is taken from the first line of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight [Tolkien’s trans­la­tion, nat­u­rally] and the “veg­eta­bles are what food eats” was taken from here.

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