Published in Blue Unicorn, Volume XLII, 2018
On a solute Tuesday the gardener brings his rusty metal appendages,
his chemical adjurations.
The earth congeals and curdles its rainwater, small clouds fleeing the touch
of his crude feet, all in rubber.
His clippers clash in indignation while nearby gnats and ladybirds avert their eyes
in born convictions.
Cross-stitched gloves he wears with happy insolence, barely malleable barriers from life to life
and learned predator from the hollyhock.
Holly Eva Allen 