Delicate bloom unfurling early
to lower angles of a warmer sun
that has drawn the snakes out
into a tall forest of green grass.
The girls spray weeds around
the barns, gates and corrals,
clearing summer’s dry hideouts
where we will travel with work
on our minds—small firebreaks
for the house. We have grown
too old for curled surprises, for
adrenaline leaps that leave us crippled
instead of snakebit. Ingrained routine
that comes with bloom before
weeds go to seed, we look ahead
for some small advantage
in a world we can improve
for those who work closest to us.
Something if Irish, would never be though of. 🙂
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I remember you had a lot of snakes around your place. We threw one on the grill and ate it…Good poem. Thanks for yours latest chapbook. I am re-reading it for the third time. Later, Bill
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