tenderfoot dancer

Frank Prem Poetry

he took off his shirt
then he plucked a hairy weed
out of the lettuce bed

dropped his blue-jeans
stepped out of the leggings
by the broccoli

cast his vest away to one side
leaned down
to check out the peas

assess the way the beans had grown

his short shorts were no good
so they flew
right across
two potato hills

but he retained his old hat
because the sun was out
and he danced some kind of
rain-come-hither every time
he put his foot down
on a stick
or a stone

he wondered
was it really naked gardening
the way they described it in his book
if he kept
his wide-brim on

to keep the sun away

he didn’t know

he was
tenderfoot planting
tenderfoot dancing

naked gardening

© Frank Prem, 2016

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