(I love you)
I sat on the deck
and watched him
push the yellow hand mower
back and forth,
clickety click click,
while the sleeves
of his shirts
hanging from the washing line
were filled by the autumn breeze
to their true size.
Fresh.
His hands yanked at weeds,
desperate to get at the root.
I lined all the used beer caps
in a row, murmuring,
Clickety click click
and lost myself
in struggling vines,
changing hues
and termite infested wood.
Stale.
Then there was no more noise,
no more wind,
no more weeds.
Wrapped in a blanket,
we shared a full moon,
an empty washing line
and enough memories
to set a blazing fire
that would thaw the frost
of any autumn night.
Clickety click click.


Reply With Quote

