You cannot garnish my bread and butter
I cannot cleave to the thought of toil,
of cleaving the wood, working in the soil,
can’t weather weather to clip-n-trim the hedge
or to clip the trim of what I’ve already edged.
The only energy I have left, it’s true,
is if I left the tasks undone, and withdrew.
I was bound to bound back inside,
Where warmth and cool and comfort abide.
No oversight in my oversight, none,
I bolted, bolted the gate, and was done.
I ran fast to fasten the door’s brace
and buckled the latch, knees buckled in place.
Instead of seeding the lawn, I dust dust, and inside remain.
I seeded the watermelon, not under the weather, no strain,
With shrimp garnished and buttered bread,
I dinned, my fair share was done, and my work was well-fed.
WoPoLi 
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