Ah, Gardening!

His very masculine face
brightened as he responded
how much he is engaged with
gardening, his voice matching
mine in fervour, a true enthusiast.
When I ventured my favourite
garden stalwart, the variety of
size, colour and texture of
plantain lilies, he turned his
puzzled face to mine admitting
the name was unfamiliar and
does it taste good? The realization
dawned that I was in the company
of a true gardener, as I 
defensively explained it to be
an ornamental, not an edible plant
pointing to its presence in my
garden. Oh, he said, that 
indestructible thing he has
planted around tree trunks;
whack it, mow it, and it comes
back, he said, dismissively,
then waxed poetic about his
squashes, his bell peppers, his
cucumbers and his onions and
I hoped he wouldn't notice the
paltry two tomato vines I grow
in containers as my inadequate
perfunctory nod to the practical
utility of growing one's own,
while a flush of embarrassment 
flooded my consciousness at my 
unbridled passion for floral beauty
so obviously unpractical and effete.