So there I was, just me and the mad dogs,
my English roots glinting in the mid day sun,
cleaning out the greenhouse.
Telling over old pots, faded seed packets, and leaky watering cans
and why do I have three of those little fork type hand tools
and only one trowel? Taking everything outside and scrubbing
off the neglect, resigning myself to consigning
the worst to the rubbish tip.
Yes there I was, the sun spinning around me
when you found me and shaking
your head said “look at your shoulders, they’re bright red”
and I looked although I knew you wouldn’t lie about
pain; current or impending
“Oh my, this is going to hurt” I thought.
I really ought to know better, and I put on
a shirt like closing the barn door and later that day,
aloe anointed, fiery red shoulders
banked to a dull glow, I sigh
“Oh well, at least I got the greenhouse cleaned out.”