It's Still Life

In Pursuit of Common Muck

They’re off to buy dirt. You know the stuff
that nature makes for free. The garden centre,
he says, it’s on sale. You see, she gave him
an electric scarifier for his birthday,
mostly because she saw him looking at one

a few months ago, and the one that he has
throws his back out (all that pushing and
shoving and pulling), and since he couldn’t
think of anything else, that’s what he got.
He assembled it right away with a toddler-like

glint in his eye, and then ripped up the lawn.
Twenty-years worth of old grass and moss.
He puts her right; it’s good for the lawn,
but now he needs grass seed and top dressing,
the latter he explains is just a toff’s word

for common mucky dirt. And her heart is joyous —
the garden centre is filled with spring colour
and scent. Pansies and violas and primroses.
Hellebores and wallflowers and begonias.
Sweet peas, she says, look at the sweet peas,

but they agree it’s still too early to plant
annuals in pots. And besides, he’s distracted
by dirt. He buys five bags. She buys a tin
of her favourite sour cherry travel sweets.
She’ll return for the sweet peas another day.

for Miz Quickly’s Imprompt “Lose Yourself“