Death of a Crassula 

 

The last houseplant

to be killed

was the succulent -

a jade, or money tree,

I'm not sure which.

I knocked it onto the carpet

when I carried my duvet

through to the lounge

to change the sheets

on my bed.

 

Past its best,

perhaps pot-bound,

maybe dying anyway,

I picked it up,

fed it with more compost.

Its leaves fell off

like hair

of a cancer victim

whose chemotherapy

hasn't worked.

 

As I dropped it in the dustbin

like snuffing a candle

or switching off a light

I thought, maybe it's kinder 

to end its misery

as we put down a cat or a dog,

than let it die a long slow death.

It's remembered by the cutting I took, now

growing in the copper pot on the sideboard,

nestled between a geranium, an ivy.