Reign of hail

A rain of hail

It could happen
The spring rains certainly hard enough
The icy hail frequent enough
So intense
They pounded the garden flat
Left the clay soil
Reformed. Crusted over
Like a child’s try with a potters wheel.

So it happens.
Perhaps. Tapped too many times.
Running into ruin.
We tire of replanting.
Seeds again and again
Cutting away the ratted leaves.
Giving up is so much easier.
Let victorious spurge and chickweed
Claim their soils

I’ll not look
And call it the garden
Instead
I’ll not turn that way
At all

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