Another housecleaning poem.


The old man
in the cluttered
and I mean chaotic
jumble of a back yard
in April. He stands
in the far left corner
by the fence and
clips the skinny bare branches
of some kind of bush
with no twigs to spare for this activity and yet
the old man carefully maneuvers the pruner
and snips
with hard sharp snapping sounds
the branches each one with a bit of green in the middle
as two black dogs chase each other
in the mud.

Come Into the Back Yard small

“Come Into The Back Yard”


9 thoughts on “Task

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