No Danger of Frost
Mid-morning, I haul
the rusty green hand spade,
long, heavy water hose,
special garden dirt
and thirteen tomato plants
out to the garden.
Something about thirteen
guarantees a bountiful crop.
Call it kismet.
I kneel, dig the holes
add the dirt and plant.
Cover it all and soak it in water.
I’m on my knees
and the damp earth seeps
through my jeans.
I feel it on my left
very arthritic knee and
it is surprisingly comforting.
I repeat this ritual
twelve more times
stopping occasionally
to wipe the perspiration
from my forehead
with a red checked bandana.
I have cages for each one
but that can wait until tomorrow
when
I replenish my zeal.
R. Gerry Fabian is a published writer and poet from Doylestown, PA. He has published five books of poetry: Parallels, Coming Out Of The Atlantic, Electronic Forecasts, Wildflower Women, and Pilfered Circadian Rhythm as well as his poetry baseball book, Ball On The Mound.
Mid-morning, I haul
the rusty green hand spade,
long, heavy water hose,
special garden dirt
and thirteen tomato plants
out to the garden.
Something about thirteen
guarantees a bountiful crop.
Call it kismet.
I kneel, dig the holes
add the dirt and plant.
Cover it all and soak it in water.
I’m on my knees
and the damp earth seeps
through my jeans.
I feel it on my left
very arthritic knee and
it is surprisingly comforting.
I repeat this ritual
twelve more times
stopping occasionally
to wipe the perspiration
from my forehead
with a red checked bandana.
I have cages for each one
but that can wait until tomorrow
when
I replenish my zeal.
R. Gerry Fabian is a published writer and poet from Doylestown, PA. He has published five books of poetry: Parallels, Coming Out Of The Atlantic, Electronic Forecasts, Wildflower Women, and Pilfered Circadian Rhythm as well as his poetry baseball book, Ball On The Mound.
