After work I ramble round my garden beds
pinch back, pull weeds and red faced work
the shovel to that unruly weed grass
That spreads like poison with such deep roots.
A distant cloud becomes a sheet
of grey as thunder rumbles nearer
now the wind picks up,
but look, you wear your brand new shoes,
the sandals, a good shirt and pants!
Oh my, how many times now
though you always say
I’ll change, I’ll change and still…
you dig trenches for the summer bulbs
where are those nice garden gloves
and a manicure just yesterday?