An even keel for some,
routine by the calendar X.
Just another canvas white day,
but not exactly the same
not really my cartridge,
something with too little texture.
The fog that took hostage,
left no trail, yet broke
the backyard fence.
I walked past my garden limits
just thinking. Mother, father,
it’s a heck of a struggle
getting past this point. Few have
made their own gates, but I did.
Fashioned them carefully, oiled brackets
for maximium swing, chose the metal
to lean on after the day’s toil.
Momentum gave way to inertia
otherwise it wouldn’t keep hope open.
