In the middle of your garden
There’s a birdhouse post that’s lost
Its birdhouse and has become 
A sentinel for hungry intuders

Today I am insistent on its removal
And bring the iron digger to bear,
Sweat and the strike of stone slows
My progress enough for you to come

Out of the potting shed to halt
My excavation. Your answer to my
Argument puts my position aslant:
Husbandry is not failure or success

But the ability to see what’s needed