I unfold the wrappings and lick
some of the rhubarb from the tin foil.
Beside me in the car, I have hedge
clippers, a saw, and an electric trimmer
with a long thin blade.
Down the street I watch two men
unload their heave equipment
from a blue truck. They have lawn
mowers, rakes, shovels, electric saws,
and assorted other tools. In a moment
I wonder what I am doing here, in
this car seated next to a pair of ancient
paint spattered hedge clippers with
wobbly handles? But the rhubarb
from the foil; how good it is.
Rhubarb on this hot summer day.
Alan Britt is a poet whose recent books include Vegetable Love (March Street Press, 2009) and Vermillion (Bitter Oleander Press, 2006). (updated 6/2010)