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

you bought

and a manicure just yesterday?