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It is a beauteous evening, calm and free,
and the neighbor has shoveled his horseshit
in the garden, bucket after bucket
dumped from rusting pickup to veggie beds,
tomato plants staked with splintered handles
of rakes, cucumbers vined through chicken wire
strung from nail-studded two-by-fours braced
by scrap leather, by snapped fan belts, even
the cinder-blocked Charger sprouting lilac
through its shattered windshield, oil drums halved
for onions and carrots, coffee cans hung
to gather rain in apple-heavy limbs
above the swing where he sits with his wife
when evenings are beauteous, calm and free.
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