Power hum of bees far overhead

Traffic jammin’ in the Elder flowers.

Even the shade is hot

I try to keep my sweat out of the chemicals

I’m rubbing into the plastic over the headlights.

 

Years past this would have been your job

To go along with putting out the trash cans

Making sure the tires are inflated properly

Paying the taxes and mowing the lawn.

 

All my jobs now.

 

You were the one who wanted

To live in the country.

I the one surprised to find I loved it more

Than you did.

 

Learning to polish the grime off the headlights

Sharpen the knives

Check the fusebox

Fix the plumbing

 

I can’t remember your voice

But I can hear you saying

To clean the tools

Put them where they belong.

 

The headlights are clear, look new

I clean the tools

I put them away

And wonder where I belong now.