New Poem

(Ha! My one poem for May.)



Turning 40


All day it smells like rain,
the feeling that something is coming
but never does.

The wind jettisons
young leaves from the trees
and there you stand

under its canopy
protected from a sky
you can barely see.

Everything you know says
dig in, till the garden until
it yields that one lousy tomato,

the one you spent
your whole paycheck to grow.
All you need is right in front of you

says the dirt,
says the thunder crack
of a humid afternoon.

You write the number
in the black earth and wait
for rain to wash it away.