The Great Plant Escape, A Poem by Chris Russell

Every time I tried to water the plants in the greenhouse water fell on my head. I walked over to the supervisor, but in all honesty, it felt like she knew I was coming over and pulled me over to her by some kind of imaginary hose or something. Looking into her eyes, I felt the back of my head getting wet. “Does water fall on your head when you water the plants?” I said. “Is that some sexual joke?” She said. She picked up a trowel that was by her ankle and scraped my forearm with it, but the people were gathering around us and laughing and clapping, and parents were showing their kids what was happening. I felt like I was in a play I didn’t sign up for. I decided to play along. I picked up a shovel and hit her over the head with it and she exploded into water. Then I heard whispering in a strange language, and all at once all the plants in the greenhouse ran out the front door. I gave chase with my shovel and cornered one out back behind the dumpster. “Rick, its me, Daniel, from over in birdfeeder’s. Don’t hurt me. I can explain,” he said. “Rick, what the hell is going on around here? Have I died?” I said. “Look, you have to hide. Here they come now,” he said. He pointed with his leaf to the fire trucks pulling into the driveway. Men wearing fire retardant suits exited the truck carrying what appeared to be flamethrowers. A seagull flew over one of them and they all ducked for cover behind some trashcans. “That was close,” one said. “As long as nobody gets an itch to eat one again, we should be in and out of here,” another said. I turned to Daniel. He was gone. “I’m not gone. I’m just inside your blind spot,’ Daniel said. “How does one get inside someone’s blind spot,” I said. “How does one not get inside one’ blind spot?” He said. “Good point. Let’s find a way out of here,” I said. We tried to run down the hill out back, but every step we took only pulled us backwards a foot or so.

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