Introduction by Ted Kooser: I was born in April and
have never agreed with T.S. Eliot that it is “the cruellest month.” Why would I
want to have been born from that? Here’s Robert Hedin, who lives in Minnesota,
showing us what April can be like once Eliot is swept aside.
This Morning I Could Do
a Thousand Things
I could fix the leaky pipe
Under the sink, or wander over
And bother Jerry who’s lost
In the bog of his crankcase.
I could drive the half-mile down
To the local mall and browse
Through the bright stables
Of mowers, or maybe catch
The power-walkers puffing away
On their last laps. I could clean
The garage, weed the garden,
Or get out the shears and
Prune the rose bushes back.
Yes, a thousand things
This beautiful April morning
But I’ve decided to just lie
Here in this old hammock,
Rocking like a lazy metronome,
And wait for the day lilies
To open. The sun is barely
Over the trees, and already
The sprinklers are out,
Raining their immaculate
Bands of light over the lawns.