Tree Yaupon
She hates the yaupon especially
in April when it flowers.
They drop, pale green and yellow,
full of pollen, to cover the pool deck
and coat the surface of the pool,
a shrunken Sargasso Sea come inland.
They clog the skimmer basket
and fill the small Polaris bag.
They track into the house in broken
star shaped buds across the tile and carpets.
The yaupon is my favorite
of our trees. I like its dome
of leaves, its shading canopy
above the grill. I hate the pool.
I want to drain it, punch big holes
in it's peeling plaster bottom,
fill it with crushed stone, sandy
loam and top soil and plant three
yaupons on an undulant, kidney
shaped lawn of fescue and ivy.
in April when it flowers.
They drop, pale green and yellow,
full of pollen, to cover the pool deck
and coat the surface of the pool,
a shrunken Sargasso Sea come inland.
They clog the skimmer basket
and fill the small Polaris bag.
They track into the house in broken
star shaped buds across the tile and carpets.
The yaupon is my favorite
of our trees. I like its dome
of leaves, its shading canopy
above the grill. I hate the pool.
I want to drain it, punch big holes
in it's peeling plaster bottom,
fill it with crushed stone, sandy
loam and top soil and plant three
yaupons on an undulant, kidney
shaped lawn of fescue and ivy.
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Author's Note
#20 in the series NaPoMo 13
Other stories by Gary Hardaway
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Fave, Gary. I really like how you turn the everyday observations into poetry. I often think of Hopkins's "Pied Beauty" as I read your pieces.
What a sweet package for the tension. I think this would read aloud nicely. I think there’s contention in the rhythm. It lilts in the beginning, but that does not carry through. Once you get to “I hate the pool,” you have to stop, then rebuild, and the rhythm grows back.
It'll never happen. You oughta know: you ain't the boss. Admire the economy here. Fav.
*
Lovely image. fv*
"plant three / yaupons on an undulant, kidney
shaped lawn of fescue and ivy."
Great.
If the bitten tongue could talk it would bleed this poem..Love it! The things we think but never say.
I really do hate that tree, even if it is pretty.*