Monday, September 7, 2015

The Given

In the yard yanking
weeds from the walkway,
I saw a neighbor
and we exchanged words.

Hey neighbor, he said.
How art thou, I said.
Better than deserved:
but what I heard was,

It is sweet to serve.
Either way's a gift,
he and I agreed,
as I left the weeds

for another day
so to retire from
the heat and return
to making poems.

Which allows me this:
I act-u-ally 
do not make poems, 
I’m but their ally.

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