I was looking out the back door, zoning out, lost in my morose thoughts.
Rather gradually, the wagon in the back yard came in focus, and I remembered
so much depends
upon
a red wheel
barrow
glazed with rain
water
beside the white
chickens.
I hated that poem so much that there is a heavy ball point pen slash through it in An Introduction to Poetry (sixth edition). It's been 18 years since I crossed it out, though. Live and learn.
Posted by Nic at April 4, 2005 08:22 PM