For some years now I have attempted to keep a daily poetic journal. I rarely find the time to write a poem a day, but some do emerge out of the experiences and urgencies of life. Here's one I wrote earlier in May that probably won't find its way to any journal, so I thought I'd post it here.
For all of you lawn care gurus . . . you might identify.
Here's to spring . . . and summer!
Lawn Care
I'm going out to whiff the fumes of spring
Emanating from the can of gasoline
Stored through the winter in the backyard shed.
The riding mower--rife with oil and grit--
Is younger than I am, I must admit,
And all the rites of spring hang overhead.
A redbud scent blows through the open door
And fertilizer stirs upon the floor
Like tiny funnels captured on a breeze.
Each tool is cold and slick with winter wet
But underneath each arm I note my sweat
Anticipating spring come by degrees.
For all of you lawn care gurus . . . you might identify.
Here's to spring . . . and summer!
Lawn Care
I'm going out to whiff the fumes of spring
Emanating from the can of gasoline
Stored through the winter in the backyard shed.
The riding mower--rife with oil and grit--
Is younger than I am, I must admit,
And all the rites of spring hang overhead.
A redbud scent blows through the open door
And fertilizer stirs upon the floor
Like tiny funnels captured on a breeze.
Each tool is cold and slick with winter wet
But underneath each arm I note my sweat
Anticipating spring come by degrees.
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