4th of July, 2015


I trim my weeds with garden shears
at the base of Two Bowls Mountain
resting often by the well
to stretch my back
and drink water
in the shade of the capulin.

There are weeds–glorious weeds–
as far as the eye can see.

A neighbor down the road
offers up a gas trimmer
that can accomplish in a day
what is taking me a lifetime.

But I am daft.

I prefer the quiet monotony
of my garden shears
crouched down in the weeds
moving as remotely and idly
as any hooved creature.


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