I donned my hat — the one for bravery —
and ventured forth past the potted ferns.
The trolleys clanked like tribal drums,
the hanging baskets whispered warnings.

The path to perennials was thick with threat:
leaves brushed my knees,
a begonia grabbed my sleeve.
Two gnomes stared. I nodded back.

Somewhere beyond the rhododendrons
was the prize — elusive, sleek,
a green beast of plastic promise:
the watering can.

I can’t believe I spotted one.
It blinked at me from under a spirea.
I reached—
and a woman with sunhat and purpose
got there first.

I lost my list somewhere near the clematis,
along with my patience and one sock.
(It had come with me by accident —
but still, it deserved better.)

That’s when I knew:
the jungle wins sometimes.
I bought a packet of wildflower seeds
and called it a draw.

• Expedition: Aisle Three by Jay Rose Ana