The Backyard

I look out at the backyard

And see nothing but weeds and dirt

I think of all the times that I promised

I'd roll up my sleeves and get to work

One day, I swear I'll

Grab those old shears

Cut back the bamboo

And sweep up all the leaves

Next week, for certain

If it's not too hot, I'll

Clean out the gutters

And clear away the lot

All the lot

Each night the mosquitos

Come calling in searching of blood

I know the drain is overflowing

But I do nothing to stem the flood

Some day, I swear I'll

Clear out all the muck

Broom the bushes

And get our side path back

Call up the council

Or organize a skip

All those dead branches

I'll take them to the tin

To the tin

When you were out at the doctors

I wanted to make you proud

In garden clothes and an old hat

Striding promptly into the yard

But what's that sound?

That movement in the pile?

That long, thin shape?

That pain in my ankle?

If I'd just done

A little now and then

This jungle above me

Would never appear

The end

The end