The twentieth day of May (three days late)

She was a mulch-digger that believed
in orderly beds
a woman that wore crisp
denim shirts on cool days
and kept her white hair in a bob
and this was her territory:
when a squirrel wouldn’t stay away
from her birdfeeder
she uprooted it
turned the page in the catalogue
and planted things that drew
butterflies
instead
he was a pruner
that otherwise stayed out
of the garden
a man that semi-annually
grasped the telescoping arms of his tool
looking for the clean edges
of cut

She was familiar with the orderly disruption
of pest life cycles
she had a notebook full of dilutions applications doses
all in her careful hand
but when she came upon
her husband still
watching
a raccoon fish in her koi pond
swiping at the water brushing aside
her special order plants for the fish
they carefully sifted into tanks in the fall
so they wouldn’t freeze
the fish swarming the murky light
of the basement
all winter
she watched him watch
then grabbed a rake
and took
a swipe