The tale of Tommy...

the tumbling tiger tomato.

Tommy is the sole surviving member of a band of brothers

sown by me months ago.

He was one of five in a mortgage-inducing packet.

'Contents - five seeds'

That won't be right I think , as I open the

pack and peer in...

Well you could have knocked me down with a feather,

sitting coyly in the bottom were exactly five frigging seeds.

I carefully tucked them up in their beautifully

prepared bed, sat back and waited.

With warm bottoms and Black Russians as compatriots

they couldn't fail.  The Russians romped away leaving

the timid and shy tumblers to bring up the rear.

The Black wee beasties succumbed to trench rot and one after the other 

wilted and died.  All hope was pinned on the TT's.

Slowly, shyly they emerged looking feeble, but with an air of triumph.

Then one morning I was dismayed to find three had gone the way

of their Russian chums.

Two were left.  With red-cross-emblazoned matronly

chest, starched white napkin, Hattie Jacques-like

pinned on my head, I rushed them to intensive care.

With blue light flashing, the patients clutched to my heaving bosom,
 I scurried down the garden.
 In the balmy warmth of the house,
I placed them gently into an incubator (clear plastic bag), 
peace reigned, until Tommy's brother
drooped and died.
Gallantly he marched on, well to say marched is a tad over egging the pudding.
Gallantly he limped on, until one day I thought, now is the time he braved the world.
Carefully, for all the world looking like a stripper peeling off a stocking,
I lowered the plastic comfort blanket.
The shock put him back three seasons...
still he clung to life... just, and this is how you see him this morning.
Now if I was a betting woman, I don't think he's got a fart in a thunderstorm's
chance of producing any offspring...

What do you think?