my brother picking beans

even the narrow bands of grass immaculately tended

and the courgettes neat in their wooden cases

and raspberries ripening under netting

and an abundance of chard, green glossed, rainbow stalked

and brimming, dimming under three milky domes,

and here and there, a chickweed, self-seeded, unheeded

and the asparagus frothing, and the currants darkening

and tomatoes in their tiny splendours, close and climbing

and the shed, fuggy wood smell, tools packed neatly

and onions laid on paper drying, and a mug for tea sat waiting,

and the frilled lettuces in a row all by themselves and gleaming,

and my brother picking beans, his face intent and serious

and I am watching as he gently twists each stem then pulls

and lays each black bean down so neatly in a plastic tub

and at his feet a crop of chives in purple flower

and then he hands the tub of beans to me and says for you.