for my old friend Herman, gone ten years now

At the end of the day

I roll the wheel barrows in
push in the mowers inside
from the sidewalk display,

wave to Mrs. Mason
ticking tires with chalk
at the five o’clock hour

and walk toward home.
When I was a kid
I said an Our Father

forgive us our tresspasses
as I cut through the lawn
of the Methodist Church.

Home again now
after years I take care
while you die.

I keep to the sidewalk.
I pray all the time.
Your flannel hangs from the chair.

The rosary your wife made
is tangled in a dish.
Her eyes were good enough once

to thread bead after bead,
bend wire into loops,
with tools from your store.

I work hard
to keep it afloat
but we can’t compete

with big box stores.
I know soon
we’ll have to stop fighting.