jonesing for new mexico

Duncan Blitz slipped a sliver of lime into the tiny compost canister on his small kitchen shelf of his sublet apartment in the federal district of columbia.   The miniature compost would feed the cherry tomatoes and baby strawberries on his little balcony. Like hauling barrows of manure in New Mexico, but enclosed.

The container was half-filled with espresso grounds layered with orange peel, ginger slices, radish greens and artichoke leaves.  Like a canyon, but not.

A scrap of fish was in there, like Squanto, but without squanto.

Duncan brought his Tecate out to the balcony and breathed the evening air.  Like his porch in New Mexico, without the view. and no dog at his feet.  At street level were daschunds and English bulldogs, on leash.

He noticed a white flower on the strawberry plant.  If I put strawberry trimmings in the compost, would it be cannibalism, he wondered.