the plant in the corner

you remember
the last plant you had
when you lived
in a ground floor
one bedroom
apartment in Maryland.
it was a leafy green
thing in the corner
on a wobbly
table, so old,
that you didn't
mind the overflow
when watering
said plant
with a glass from
the kitchen.
you weren't in
love with it, but
it was always there
when you came
home. dusty and weak,
leaning a little
more towards the
light of the half
drawn shades.
you'd turn it around
sometimes
for balance, one
side growing
differently than
the other, picking
out the cigarette
stubs from your smoking
friends who
couldn't find an ashtray.
sometimes
a wad of gum would
be in the dirt as
well. but it was a good
plant. hardy, surviving
your continual lack
of attention. there
was guilt involved
during your entire
relationship with
this plant, still
felt today, when you
set it in the trash room
on moving day.