The Odds Garden
Shall we do it again
Spring plant the Odds Garden
South of the house?
Walked over it this morning
Dry enough now
Brittle to the kick
Low spot to the east
No longer mucky.
Pleased with our lease
With Jerry on the west four hundred
That base rate and bean percentage
From the Mill
Has us sitting OK
The land is expectant
Smells it, sounds it
We just HAVE to put something in.
Warm sun to my left
This morning tells the same story.
I figgur some tomatoes, cukes, leaf lettuce
Green beans, pepper squash
And a coupl’a punkins.
Whatdya say Marge?
And your edging flowers this year
Lilies or glads?
Yep gonna start tomorra
Clearing and burning.
Wil said he would
Probably make it home
Take out the winter kill
On the laneway trees.
I know you miss him.
Be right up to the porch
I’ll fix a pot of Earl Grey.
Sets the mood
For cribbage, don’t it.
But first get rid of these boots
In the shed.
(And then obscured
From her unflinching gaze)
Damn that Alzheimers, anyway.
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(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
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Edgar Allan Poe
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