an hour and thirty minute
rain liberation to the garden to the
gardener who simply pops up from his
private napping bed
little finger flicks across the shorts drawer
as if heads he's nude, tails he's half
clad in sheets of mylar rain
trachea braces for the heatblast
but the opening door serves fresh air on the rocks.
cold water, forced under the threshhold,
greets toes used to baking,
I let the sheets of mylar form
Enfolding my hips while I play triage nurse
It is a good 45 minutes of trying on my mylar water wardrobes
While the opportunistic infectives, kudzu and friends, prepare to return to dust.
An hour into the rain delay,
I find that the entire garden glistens anew.
So does the naked body of the gardener,
Changed, too, is the flex of the falling mylar -
That it may be called mylar not rain
And I can be called gardening, not skinny-dipping
Can be left for the language police
The others catch me not
As I dry off - the tarp is being removed
And the seventh inning will soon begin!