What begins with this
singular L?
New worms, certainly,
from the splitting
of their parent self.
Whole new cities
of aerobic bacteria.
Stones from rocks.
Sprouts of pigweed, lamb’s-quarters,
purslane, dock: seeds
that had lain dormant for decades
until the hoe stirred them
into life.
This italic L spells
hills for yams,
channels for irrigation water,
a level bed for flowers.
Its thick tongue
uncovers an instant palate.
Luh, it says.
Luh luh luh luh.
The shocks travel
up the aching arms.
(o)
After hoeing this morning I read this tool poem with special appreciation.
Oh yeah? Cool! Thanks for visiting.
Love this one, Dave! It’s timely too. Caught me in a luh luh lull recovering from vibrational voltage from hoeing the garden yesterday. Ouch! Now I’m inspired, however. I guess the ‘L’ got me started on this one. (Grin). No double entendre intended in the title.
Chicaghoe
Upheaver of crazed mud
Flipper of turf and rocks
Archeologist of leaf layers
Mincer of soil nubs and worms
Channeler of the dirt divide
Father to the plow
Feeder to the nation
Hoe! Hoe! Hoe!
Ha ha ha! That’s excellent. I’m sure Sandberg would have approved.