To a dedicated groundsman
Up each day before six.
A stick insect with a fag in his face.
Taking coffee on his balcony
under spring sunrises
when weather permits.
A lighthouse in reverse
soaking up the light on his domain.
Not one blade of grass overlooked.
With a face like Herman Munster
on a good day, he descends stairs
with a regular meter.
Like an ancient grandfather clock.
Striding across fresh cut grass
his matchstick legs look ready to crack.
He is Ox-strong – fragility unseen.
The outside world his saviour.
Flowers and trees his universe.
A daytime workshop revealed
behind an open garage door.
King of someone else’s castle.
Down in the flowerbeds dirty-rascals.
Weeds ripped and hoed to oblivion
never stand a chance.
But Brer Rabbits are always welcome.
The sun goes down after a day
always the same
because it’s always different.
The cave is closed.
A thousand jobs completed
the cats are called.