Sunflower Race

We raced sunflowers

  three seeds in numbered pots

     in a windowsill propagator. 

One led the charge, 

Two close behind. 

          Three failed to germinate 

          so we added Four to the soil. 

They outgrew the propagator 

                  then the pots. 

They chased the sun, bending 

    to follow, heedless 

of the toothpicks propping them up. 

Four showed Three how to grow, 

their roots tangled 

conjoined siblings. 

Four, once the runt, reached the upper 

window 

first. 

We moved them outside. 

Big, new pots. Bamboo sticks for support. 

For a day   they thrived. 

The garden slugs 

were merciless. 

One, Two, Three, Four 

all reduced to stems 

  chewed away to the bones 

      blackened at the edges. 

We fed them powdered eggshell, 

but nothing 

   will restore them 

   will return their tended glory. 

They never had the chance 

                 to flower. 

And we’ll never know 

which would have won.