“Dig”
We were nearly back to the house
when the front end loader shattered
the silence and back filled the hole
drove off some vireos and cowbirds
amped up seven whitetail browsing
the pine break above Calusa Way.
American Spirit pegging
his new moon gash of a mouth
the operator feathered his lever
while gathered together we grazed
potato salad, deviled eggs, sliced ham
rain from the Gulf to Melbourne
soaking the operator’s boots
ducking into his truck
for the long drive home to Pedro.
It hammered the tin roof shed
outback where everything, everything
your tools, tarps, trouble lights
line trimmer, home brew insecticide
in unmarked milk jugs, old spark plugs
a lifetime of nuts, bolts and their ilk
huddled warm and dry on shelves
while it ballpeened the tamped sand lozenge
on the ragged fringes of orderly ranks.
It’s hard to find even with a map
Calusa Way coiling through the bahia grass
flowing past all you stone faced theater goers
house lights up well past the final act.
Vireos and cowbirds
even the whitetail browsing
the pine break pay me no mind
scooping away the morning undoing
the honest work of the operator
down on hands and knees sifting
every spoonful of backfill looking
for something I might have missed.
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