TURBINE | KAPOHAU

Faye sends from Montreal
the Lee Valley gardening
catalogue. I could buy
a downspout aiming joint,
seed spoons, a copper obelisk,
the shoulder bag broadcast spreader,
old fashioned glass cloches,
their bell shapes steaming tongueless
over seedlings, barnyard tea
to revive my compost and
perhaps a Perrot impulse sprinkler.

In the photos the models’ rubber clogs (page 88)
complete with two bag set of volcanic deodoriser —
naturally occurring clinoptilolite (page 98)
have never tramped the earth; their fingernails are not half moons of black
perhaps because they use pruners’ soap page 84 and Burt’s 
Bees handsalve; their T-shirts page 87 have no twin mounds
of dirt; their knees aren’t brown with mud.

If I had one of everything, I could endow 
unslugged flowers with everlasting life; grow vegies
lush and caterpillarless in tilth that’s fine
and friable; yarrow would wilt at the sound 
of my lawn aerator sandals; bulbs would be in
the soil before spring; hanging baskets would blast
colour that never fades and I would sit back 
in my Adirondack chair (plans, page 103)
and watch the shadow move across the sundial
calibrated specially for the southern hemisphere.