I Have a Garden

By Jim Heil

I have a garden – full of dirt
that I seed and I sow in my sweat stained shirt.
Work and I work, till my bones start to hurt,
but all that ever blooms is the fucking dirt.

I start my laps without the sound of a gun.
Before I awake, I go out for a run.
Miles and miles, until I am done.
Sweating and tired, I’m back to square one.

I try to make friends in this gloomy land.
With all of my effort, I reach out my hand,
but things don’t always go as their planned,
as I blink rapidly to wash out the sand.

I can’t go on without the sound of a gun.
Now that I’ve sown the seeds, my work is done.
Though reaching and running, I will not hurt,
but bloom just beneath my garden of dirt.