Californian Gardener Poem by saranyan bee

I have been watching the gardener,
All Tuesdays, that’s when he comes along
To tend to the little landscaped lawn
And the garden in this motley town.

Nothing like to sit at the patio
Sipping a Budweiser can,
Letting sunny afternoons slip
Look at flowers, beds of them, even tulip.

What a lovely place to be,
Seated in the sunny afternoon I do,
But Tuesdays are special,
When the gardener comes with kit and shovel.

He sprays the odorless pesticide,
Mows the lawn, trims the hedges,
And even paints the odd fetter
Where patches of wear are found by the litter.

I admire the meticulous range
Of the work he does, I thought it strange
That he has never looked up to me,
Not once, not in the many years by the sea.

Blossoms sweet, Sweet Petunia,
Pink Fuchsia, Lily of Nile
All courtyards had his caring eye,
But not me, not in the many years by the sea.

Why do I want this man’s reflection
When I can engage the whole sky,
The steaming warmth and whole lot of bacon,
Without any fleck or affliction.

Hold! Was that a baffling smile
I’d glanced for a while,
A visage of unconcerned blithe
Something he never pampered me with?

As if about to unravel some fresh ground
- or he found a trowel too easy to maneuver,
Or the grandeur of a bee sticky on pollen,
So it’s this world carries on.

What if he doesn’t look me in the eye,
New beauty is fashioned, as weeks stroll by,
Birds of paradise, dizzy poppy lines
Each man unto his odds, his own yellow lupins.

I have been watching the gardener,
All Tuesdays, that’s when he comes along,
To tend to the little landscaped lawn,
And the garden in this motley town.

What a lovely place to be seated
All afternoons I do, sun or foggy;
I love to be the bee with legs sticky on pollen;
Unto my odds, my own yellow lupins.