Pale green and stringy
stubborn as an adolescent
celery breaks through its plastic bag
too gawky to settle down
in the vegetable drawer
It’s the flag pole in a Bloody Mary
announcing healthiness
in a pool of red booze.
The too tall girl in 6^th grade
who rounds her high shoulders
and lowers her head
to hide her beauty.
Celery wears its ruffley little hat
on the inside
you have to pull it limb
from limb to see it.
Turgid with water
bound by hard threads
celery is the serious one.
Unlike the popular carrot
and winsome tomato
it’s lost in the circus tent
of multicolored peppers,
suggestive avocados.
No one paints a still life of celery.
Chopped tiny
forgotten in the soup
celery tells its secrets
to the tuna sandwich,
blusters occasionally
in sharp-tongued salt.
Loyal and upright
it’s here to stay.

© by Katharine Harer.
Used here with the author’s permission.