The Man Who Loves Better Homes & Gardens by David Alpaugh

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The Man Who Loves Better Homes & Gardens
by
David Alpaugh

is puttering, evenings, weekends, inspecting his gutters,

plucking out loquats, acorns, eucalyptus leaves,

so the still far-off November rain can leave

his roof quickly, with elegance. He hales forth

bindweed from the chinks between sidewalk slabs,

star thistle from the caulking around the pool

where gangster grasses shoot their way to glory.

Sometimes during high wind a shingle breaks

loose in the night and clatters onto the patio.

Could he see in the dark he’d leap out of bed,

climb his aluminum ladder and wedge the cedar

shield back in place—before the roof rats

got wind of it. He lies there waiting for dawn.

Like model before mirror, he cannot sit on his deck

Sundays without discovering fresh enemies to beauty.

There’s a gopher hill beside the spa, sprung-up

overnight like a mushroom; and on the lawn

a real mushroom he’d swear wasn’t there

last evening. The forces of darkness have flung

a beer bottle over the fence. It’s lying among

his roses, crying, “This Bud’s for You!”

A shrike has eaten a finch or sparrow and left

beak, legs, feathers dangling from a twig

on his ornamental pear. His right hand flashes

forth in love and anger—drops bird in trash

can, bottle in compactor. What a war!

From Heavy Lifting (Alehouse Press, 2007).
Used with the author’s permission.

David Alpaugh was born in New Jersey, but now lives in the San Francisco, California Bay area. His poems and essays have been widely published in journals and anthologies, including the Dana Gioia-edited California Poetry from the Gold Rush to the Present. David’s most recent book, Seeing the There There, is a collection of 89 poems and images full of humor and surprises. A finalist for Poet Laureate of California, David teaches poetry for the University of California Berkeley Extension and the Osher Lifelong Learning Institute. Learn more about him at www.davidalpaugh.com.

Glen Sorestad:
I love the poem -- and of course, I know the guy! Well done, David.
Posted 05/12/2014 08:17 AM

paradea:
What a hopeless war!! Great poem.
Posted 05/12/2014 07:47 AM

paula:
Where is this man and does he have any extra time because I have a few projects at my house . . . .. Fun!
Posted 05/12/2014 05:59 AM

phebe.davidson@gmail.com:
Good grief, this guy is us---all who buy the longed for ornamentals, dig, mulch, climb rickety ladders to de-leaf gutters,. . . This is, by-the-by, an incredibly elegant poem, one I hope the poet can sit and admire absent the annoyance of shrike trophies, Bud bottles(or buds out of season), for that matter). Bravura work start to finish, and--damn--there's a mole tunnel right next to the front walk. Where did I put the bait? (a small irrelevancy---Rutgers?---me too!)
Posted 05/12/2014 05:47 AM

erinsnana:
This Bud's for you? Hilarious!! Loved the poem...
Posted 05/12/2014 04:51 AM

Ross Kightly:
What a war indeed! Some of us just go with entropy and enjoy the wild ride, but others still love the illusion of control... Nature is not submissive, whether it is Human or not. Nice, perceptive portrait of a familiar person in this poem. Many thanks, David.
Posted 05/11/2014 11:21 PM

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