garden humor · Poetry

The Hose

Morning sun shines on the sweet Earth,

slanted light casts long shadows

on the path to the garden.

The waning moon is high in the blue sky.


My confidence increases

as we pass the rocks and bushes

the hose usually grabs.

Water flows smoothly to the soil.


By chance, a hummingbird flits overhead,

humming around the scarlet runners.


Further I go on the path, to saturate the iris bed.

Suddenly the flow stops and I am pulled back,

for a kink and an unexpected catch on a rock.


I swing the hose up and down,

trying to get it free.

I realize, the hose,

is having a laugh at me.


Down the hill to the peach trees

where wild birds splash in a puddle,

I pass by to reach the chicken yard,

and try to keep the hose in line.


I rest the hose in a well, under a plum tree,

to open the chicken door.

The hose shifts and water flows

far away from the tree.


Such a waste! I hurry

to catch the hose and drag it through the pen.

It kinks and catches on the door and pulls,

I have to go out and straighten it- again.


Happy chickens gladly

run up to the watery mud all around.

They gobble up little earth worms

who try to escape the flooded ground.


All thirsts quenched for the day,

the hose is returned to it’s place.

Tomorrow surely, I’ll have a plan

for a not kinky hose,

and water where it belongs.


2 thoughts on “The Hose

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