The Garden Of Labour by Gareth Culshaw

We never did gardening,
more a labour of what needed
to be done.

Rake the soil, pull the weeds
like Christmas crackers.
Snip the hedging until it waxed

the pavement. Then we brushed
and bagged with gripes and nags.
Our backs creaked like floorboards.

The garden had no growth
to be proud of. The lawn was trimmed
on the edges, mowed with an electric

engine. The orange cable inched back
and too before it wriggled via a pull.
There was green, green and more green.

A bird may crinkle out of the bottom
of the hedge. Ants sometimes spurted
from an unknown location.

We did the manual of keeping things
still and quiet. It was part of living
in a council house. One of them reasons

not to exert one’s life upon another.

Gareth Culshaw
Gareth lives in Wales. He has his first collection out in 2018 by futurecycle.


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