in God's hands

in an attempt to
develop a green thumb
you cut it
on a thorn in your
yard. who knew
you had a rose bush.
you suck the blood out
of it and shake it.
then a bee, out
of nowhere, with no
provocation whatsoever
stings you on the face,
then another and
another. why are
these bees so angry?
you see your reflection
in the brand new
steel shovel
that you bought to
dig with. you look
like a monster, or
charles bukowski, but
you plow ahead. you turn
the hose on to water
the tomatoes that you
just planted, but
it leaks and sprays
wildly at the faucet
soaking your new
planting khaki pants
just purchased
from L.L. Bean.
you reach down
to pick up a long
stick that some kids
must have thrown
into your yard. it's
not a stick though,
but a brown snake,
who rears his head back
and sticks out his split
pointed tongue. his fangs
are dripping with green
venom. you throw him
like a rope over the
fence where you hear
a dog suddenly yelp.
cautiously you walk
backwards
into the house.
stepping on a rake
which smacks you in
the back of the head.
it's over. you tried.
the yard is in god's
hands from here on out.