Than weeding and deadheading on a Sunday.
There are WORSE. THINGS.
Than weeding and deadheading
In your pebbled front-yard garden
As the hot sun beats down on you
And you’re wearing a black T-shirt
That just proves thermodynamics
Make you swelter, sweat and trickle
To the point that you might pass out
In your pebbled front-yard garden
(Oops but I already said that)
And your lilies have stopped blooming
Plus your hostas look anemic
But you’re using your new snippers
That have been a great investment
‘Cause they’re making it so easy
To snip dying and dead plant parts
And please don’t forget the dog poop
Yes you must pick up the dog poop
That has hit the yard like shrapnel
So please watch where you are stepping
Did I mention that I’m schvitzing
In our weedy front rock garden
That Versailles would mock and laugh at
But EXCUSE ME ‘cause I’m trying
Now my forearms started itching
Because weeds are toxic bastards
And they’re sending caustic weed slime
Up my sweaty tired firearms
But I stopped to take a selfie
With my profile facing leftward
Like the lady in that painting
Who was named Dot by Steve Sondheim
In the musical with Lapine
That I’m curiously quoting
As I’m weeding and deadheading
In my pebbled front-yard garden
On a SUN DAAAAAAAY.
On a SUN DAAAAAAAY
In the yard. with.
*Don’t say your name!*
jaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaake.
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