bombus alights on
morning glory, blossoming
above rotting trash
the vines extend their
tentacles upward, fighting
to pull down phone lines
the purple trumpets
sound a silent clarion
for reinforcements
the untamed backyard
grasses respond to the call,
overthrowing the fence
somewhere, a mower
rusts in the shadows while birds
and vermin rejoice.
Sean M. Gallagher 
ya know, months ago, I was walking to a friend’s house not too far away from your place. I walked past your place on 40th and you and a lady were doing yard work. I thought that was you.
I’m on 41st. I prob. was doing yardwork.