might have been

what the hell?
i mean
all this coming
and going,
yet never leaving
this same place.
how can that be?

it would all be nothing
if it weren't for capitalism
or so-called
"private property"
that keeps me moving
all the time, rent you know . . . .

it's hot.
the garden beckons,
these empty buckets
call me to the creek
now that the spring
has gone dry.

oh yes,
and some wood to chop.
it might all seem quite zen-like
if it weren't spoiled by now
and all this talking about it.

.