My goatskin gloves match the yellow tines of my rake (bar code still affixed),
And reduce to two the number of blisters on my tender palms.
I had intended to rake the entire yard,
But can only manage that which is in the shade.
As shadows grow long,
I fall further short of my goal.
Creeping Charlie must love the shade;
There's so much more of it here.
It does not, however, tolerate the herbicide applied unsolicited by my neighbor to the east,
Along our shared fence line.
All around, cicadas sing a siren song;
In the distance, fire trucks theirs.
Heart attack or house fire -
Either way, I'm glad it's not mine.
My neighbor to the west comments wryly on my efforts.
I'm not quite sure how to take it.
The evening breeze brings such sweet relief.