PRUNING THE FIG VINE ON A LABOR DAY WEEKEND
I’m out in the back, pruning this blasted vine
again, strains of an old song in my head:
“And I’m just nine hundred mile-es from my home…”
Goldfinch in the apricot tree are my chorus backup,
my youza girls. “Tee you Tee you,” they sing.
(They’re Lesser goldfinch, but American would be more poetic—
the beetle in my head’s an American folk tune.)
Something plops from the vine, slithers away! An alligator
lizard! Nine feet long! I quit! Too much sun!