I yard-worked today
on an island,
rectangular, light poles
at each end,
planting coleus, pulling
weeds, straightening
sides with spade,
spreading mulch
with tined rake.
My pant knees maroon; clay soil—
touch of red.
Arm and back
muscles ache some; classic tingling
electric aching
as if hurt shouts
the sky is falling,
yet you do not care
because slump
is better medicine.
Later I will move up
and forward, edging
back into the grip
of summer, hoping
it will not let go.
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