I’ve always been fascinated by allotments. These micro-farms, often on the outskirts of town, are tended in a way that would be impossible over a large acreage. I once knew an allotment holder who told me many stories of daring-do amongst the sheds, canes and plastic sheeting. The quest for perfection in produce sometimes led to undoing…

Dave had a shed at his allotment,
was sometimes inside for a smoke,
He did a little digging,
Socialised with allotment folk!

He contemplated straight carrots,
Potatoes, beans, sweet pea,
often ended up distracted,
arriving home so late for tea.

His plot was always weed-free,
because at dead of night,
sprayed weed-killer from a farmer,
boasted: “It’s all rotations – right?”

His wife grew suspicious,
Followed him to the shops,
Watched him at the checkout,
Buy six ‘home-grown’ shallots!

His plot is now vacant,
Dave’s nowhere left to go,
His wife left her mark,
with a long serrated hoe!

Names, places and produce have all been changed and are not representative of local allotment holders in any way, shape or form. 
May your weeds whither and your brussels sprout, Happy Microfarming!

© Baldock Bard 2016
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