The weed hound is therapeutic. You can go out in the yard and eyeball the weeds, find the center and stomp the tool on ‘em. Then pull it back up and pop the fucker out. That’s what I was doing when he came out to sit on the deck and soak up some sun. He was watching me. It had to be ten minutes. I didn’t say a word. Just push pull, pop and toss. I can invent a lifetime of understanding in his silences. I can pin point the weed, push it down and pull it out. I only miss the root because it’s in me.
The sun was hot and I stopped to peel my sweatshirt over my head and throw it his direction. I was annoyed he would sit and watch me "work." I was annoyed he was there, needing something from me. He mirrored me and stripped down to the skin, leaning back on his arms, squinting through the sun toward me. This silence seemed even deeper than usual.
I was getting twitchy with the idea that he might actually see me. It was possible that he knew. He could even ask me. I decided if he did I would tell him. I ran the conversation in my head a few times. Every time I told him, it was a relief.
I stopped to stretch out my back and suddenly he broke in on my thoughts. “Maybe I should buy a trampoline.”
I leaned on the weed hound and stared at him. “Okay.”
Push, pull, pop, toss.
2007
