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 over 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 ball peened the tamped sand lozenge
on the ragged fringe of those 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 never mind down
on hands and knees undoing
the honest work of the operator
sifting spoonful’s of backfill for something something
I might have missed.
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