Poetry Thursday (a little late)

[A mammoth repair job on two old asphalt driveways will mess up anyone’s schedule]

Hoeing
John Updike

I sometimes fear the younger generation will be deprived
of the pleasures of hoeing;
there is no knowing
how many souls have been formed by this simple exercise.

The dry earth like a great scab breaks, revealing
moist-dark loam –
the pea-root’s home,
a fertile wound perpetually healing.

How neatly the green weeds go under!
The blade chops the earth new.
Ignorant the wise boy who
has never performed this simple, stupid, and useful wonder.

[And may I just make an editorial note that we had to use the hoes at the farm last week and let me tell you, that was about the hardest half hour of work I’ve ever done!]

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