Frank Prem

way poem #12: barrow and spade


wheelbarrow waits


it is parked
in the middle of the yard


the spade is at rest
and idly bides its time


they waited for me all day
but I
was otherwise delayed
not shoveling
sometimes that seems to be
the way


but now
I hear the compost call
the mulch has grown
in its demands


load and fill the barrow
shovel the muck from the trailer tray
mix mulch and horse-potatoes
in a mound
that’ll be tomorrow’s garden bed


and watch the hot steam rise
a smoke
wafting from the venting pipe
that’s good heat in there
so keep your hand away




the spade waits
patient again
it leans
against the garden shed wall


the barrow is asleep
could be its name


but they will be ready
when the call
to shape the garden earth
comes again
their way