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.