Turning the compost out

By: ailsaandlisa

Jul 20 2011

Category: poem

1 Comment

Focal Length:30mm
Shutter:1/0 sec

I wore my glad rags and red welly boots
and stood beneath the huge hydrangea vine
that canopied the old brick wall with leaves.
The sunlight fell like petals on my neck.

I wrestled with the monster bin till I
could lift it high like Atlas holds the world
then set it to one side. Before me stood
a claggy heap which smelled of Autumn woods.

Unappetizing stuff lay on the top:
banana skins like Gorgon hair, brunette;
cold tea bags, apple cores and orange peel
(but what on earth was that doing in there?).

Although my back already felt the work
I pushed the fork’s sharp tines into the mud
and lifted off the slag of not-yet earth
to find the seam of soil to mine beneath.

I loaded up the barrow with dark gold
then broke a lump that lay on top to find
a ball of shiny knitting wool, alive:
a nursery of earthworms, each an inch.


One comment on “Turning the compost out”

  1. This one’s my favourite so far.

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