Saturday nights our former neighbor
Shed his skin in the driveway
Stood astride the soft shoe rasp
Four corners will make puckered
At the straining gathers.
Knocked back on his heels
In a wide open stance
Bubbled in ease
On a pinpoint of coordinates
Planet curving away to the poles
He’d clock the woozy stitching
Of lazy off-speed pitches
In the latter innings of a lopsided
late season game.
The days last rays riling beads
Cascading from the nozzle of the hose
Veining a tumbler of vodka and ice
Scott’s Weed and Feed in a Folgers can
Plunked down on the filthy bandage of concrete
He practiced lawn care
Bound by an oath to do no harm.
Words I still recite at dusk
Slippers whispering on the drive
Tugging at my blue terry bathrobe
White stalks of my legs stark
Against the deep green of the front lawn.