2 poems

by Rodney Nelson

Roadside

if I were that astray young man again
I would hold me a talking-to
                         say why
are you in an immemorable town
and looking at dulled paint on a fender
when your work is there to do
       but I would
not have heard me
                          my head believing in
the sky of midday which had to redound
to my travel and in the swaddle of
the heat on me
       and I would only say
do not go down too many ways away
                   over and over
as my car lit out

Flower Garden

a grandmother must have been
weeding and watering there
at the edge of the bee field
and if I went over it
I would expect to see her

but I do not need to find
a face in the hollyhocks
when I remember her way
of tilting the sprinkler can
in July so much better

the work hum of the bees and
their homing one were greeted
with not a sign or a word
because the gardener knew
all had to do together

the air has turned heavier
so doing must have gone on
at the edge of the bee field
and if I went over it
I’d find another weeder