The twenty-fourth day of May (one poem owing)

Renovation poem #3: uncareful graves

They are uncareful graves
or we are bad neighbours
moving soil from our yard to his
covering the dropped fangs
glassy transparent
of a machine
heel-broke smashed open
in the dirt

They are uncareful graves
enough for an entire family
the soil exposed and wet
black spade slices drying into a day
where the clouds have fallen
to roost in the branches
and we are bad neighbours
who had the decency to bury our dead
but not enough to keep out the robbers
though we have guarded
this corpse for long years now
as it slowly crumbled

We are bad neighbours
the kind that take running starts
at the property line with a wheelbarrow
hopping in time with the broken axle
hoping to get over the curb
that pan the dirt with dirt-rimmed fingers
for coins nails buttons cogs
seeing what the turn of the shovel
a quick eye can reveal
like the chunks of stone
the not quite concrete
ideas
that we cart over to the bin
not wanting to provide your midnight
midday attackers
with missiles
to launch at its remaining windows