In more-or-less spring,
the gardener tends
to detritus of winter,
trapped odds and ends
stubbornly stuck,
clumped and between,
slimy and gross,
deep down in the green.
With whiff of the past
distinctive effluvium,
removing last year’s
exhausted exuvium,
the gardener can come
upon things unexpected,
like a snack long forgotten
and song resurrected.
What torture, what misery,
what shock instantaneous,
that summer camp ditty,
sudden, spontaneous!
Now it’s stuck in my head —
I’ll be kind and not say it
else you too, dear reader,
should be doomed to replay it.
If you, dear reader, are also a fan of Dan Antion’s blog, you too will be wondering if Smokey scampered off to Indiana with this peanut and then skedaddled back to Dan for more.
Oddments 