Leaf Raking

It is autumn my son's yard deep in leaves
oak maple golden red and russet in the yellowing
afternoon sun and I am raking with my nine-year-old grandson
myself, the engineer having scientifically time-and-motion
analyzed the task doing most of the work, the boy goofing a bit
as boys do. We rake like mad, the leaves flying out in front of our big
bamboo rakes, and after two hours of fierce industry the yard
is clear, a mountain of leaves piled up along the back fence and then
my grandson running diving headlong disappearing into the pile
I fish him out by the feet leaves all over stuck to his clothes
his hair and we are laughing my nose burning throat harsh from the dust .

Inside Daughter-in-law brings me chocolate cake rich and moist overtopped
with gobs of whipped cream. I eat this forbidden stuff, washing it down
with Diet Pepsi.