Yard Work

You won’t find me in the garden, weeding on my knees
I’ll leave the dandelions for the butterflies and bees.

I like uneven edges, and green bursts between the cracks.
I don’t need to see straight lines in the lawn when I look back.

I will not grind the old and rotting stumps down to the ground.
They remind me of the time when those trees were still around.

Climbing vines completely cover the garage. Who cares?
And the ivy winds its way around the spindles on the stairs.

You won’t find me in the garden plucking weeds out one by one.
I’ll leave them there to reach, stretch, twist, and turn their faces to the sun.

The grapes have overtaken what used to be a wooden fence,
Wild flowers and weeds all tangled together, the beds don’t make any sense.

There’s a circle of shells where the grass won’t grow beneath the bird feeder in the tree.
But the possums eat leftovers there at night, so I just let it be.

Sharp edges, straight lines, manicures, I don’t need them one bit.
I prefer the extra time, and a wilder place to sit.

You won’t find me in the garden, pulling weeds by hand.
I’ll just leave them where they are. And the squirrels will understand.


My lovely, meditative earworm by Einsturzende Neubauten

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