Look, I’ve had it
with you. I know you
probably perceive yourself as superior
to the plastic rakes—mined
from the earth versus mixed
in a lab.

But enough already: you’re heavier,
and therefore fatiguing; your tinny scrapes
on the sidewalk translate to whiny complaints
in my ears. You bend and warp
at the slightest contrary pressure,
and as a result, are quite useless as a scoop,
instead reaching your fingers back
like a defiant child throwing around his tiny weight,
stubbornly resisting the change in plans.

I believe I’ve told you all of this
already, spied my neighbor’s extra-wide, lightweight plastic rake
last year (and the year before) and told you,
“This is IT—this will be
your final fall.”

But—
if by chance
I again, for the 4th or 5th year
in a row, forget to go
to Home Depot to replace you,

do please find a way
to remind me
next year.

Katie Chicquette teaches English in an alternative high school in Appleton, WI. Her poems appear in Riggwelter, Torrid, Portage, WI People & Ideas, and elsewhere; a few have contest nods or Pushcart nomination. Poetry appeared on her doorstep in her late 30s, huffing, “I’ve been chasing you since you were 19—thank God you finally stopped running!”