Comments on PRUFROCK'S GARDEN, A SHORT POEM

FAKE RAIN ON AN ALUMINUM ROOF

I was a child when so much depended upon a red wheelbarrow. When so much depended upon a red wheelbarrow, daddy you filled, mixed, hoed and pushed the mortar paste thick upon the patio slab. The patio, the patio with the aluminum roof where you dropped fake rain when you placed the hose on top one hot summer day. Plop, the fake rain fell around me in wet wonderous cool droplets. One summer day when so much depended upon a red wheelbarrow.

The wheelbarrow full of sand, the wheelbarrow overflowing with water, the wheelbarrow heaped in rich soil. Then, so much depended upon a red wheelbarrow.

Flowers growing in our scraggy yard, dirt packed around the giant walnut tree in my backyard. I cried for the last lemon tree in Riverside, the last flowering blossom exploding sweet with spring under my nostrils.

Here, so much depended upon a red wheelbarrow.

Here, I lift the wood handles on the red wheelbarrow and ask myself; how can so much depend upon a red wheelbarrow? If so much depends upon a red wheelbarrow, then why don’t I visit this garden more often?