He pulls the string and knots it, pulling out
the striped stake taken from the croquet set.
She squats at the end, eying the line,
this time tightly gripping the stake. He grabs
his hoe and begins cutting through the soil
in sharp strokes, just under the string. He works
his way down the row, carving a straight trench.
From time to time he stops, unearths a rock
and flings it out of the yard into the pond.
Kerplunk! He never misses. She listens.
The frogs croak in chorus, their calls echoing
beyond the cattails. He rolls up the string.
© 2011 Kim King