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Frank Prem

way poem #12: barrow and spade

 

wheelbarrow waits
impatiently

 

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
yesterday
but I
was otherwise delayed
earning
not shoveling
sometimes that seems to be
the way

 

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

 

so
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
nonchalant
could be its name

 

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

 

 

~