The Depression in My Driveway

Ninety – two degrees outside
and it seems the perfect time
to finish what I’ve started
five Sundays ago.
In my driveway
weeds and soil have been overturned,
and now the whole thing needs edging.
At 120’ this seems like an easy job
at six in the evening
with three hours of sunlight left.
So, to Home Depot
and three buckets of blacktop patch,
one shovel,
a squeegee,
and a discount corn broom later I am ready for action.
Ninety – two degrees outside,
three beers,
and two and a half hours.
(plenty of time)
Quickly I am upstairs,
(back home)
to change into a scruffy white t – shirt
and navy blue shorts
to alleviate the heat
which is sure to be torturous.
A quick survey
and I quickly realize that I failed to sweep away the dead weeds
from the massacre three weeks ago
that claimed most their lives,
loves,
and roots.
And so
I unwrap the new broom
and see a push broom would have been easier
as some of the dying plants
in a last ditch effort to survive
have grown new roots,
feeble and shallow
in the shifting soil.
Switch to the shovel,
and its pointed blade.
Sweat.
My eyes are burning
and my forehead is a faucet
flowing down my face
and soaking the neck and chest of my shirt.
About an hours worth of effort
in the direct Ohio sun
clears up the work
I had done previously
but was too lazy to finish.
An hours worth of work
and I’m back to a clean slate,
 15lbs. lighter,
and like a damp sponge.
The Sam Adams
provides only temporary relief
to my flaccid muscles,
which feel gelatinous
and liquid.
Bend.
Set.
Dig.
Toss.
Repeat
until there is a ditch running
up each side of my driveway
from the garage
to the street.
The sky doesn’t sweat like this
and I suspect Sam Adams
is only adding to my misery.
Panting,
the air has left the atmosphere
and I…
delirious…
need…
to…
sit.
I float,
barely aware
into my kitchen
for a red plastic cup
of ice and water,
which is quickly consumed;
and then refilled.
I breathe it in
like a dying fish
and can actually feel it
pour right back out my pores.
I believe that God invented this
as the first “air conditioning.”
I swear I have no fat left,
I felt it liquefy
and collect on my skin
before melting in the hot sun,
flush.
Ninety – two degrees
and one hour left.
I feel nearly dead,
and collapse onto the grass
at the edge of my drive,
and begin futilely trying
to peel it back with my fingers
before falling back
onto all my dead leaves.
Defeated.