Just off the long granite-bermed dock,
the weary wheelbarrows wait, under
birch shade in feathery grasses, painted
forest green and indigo. They are beamy,
like oxen flicking their tails, ready
to haul with hand-hewn oak handles,
hammered leg braces, and oiled axle.
Hours after summer people propel them,
loaded and wobbly, across the island,
the herd settles outside the Big House.
The wheelbarrows are painted sky blue,
aqua, salmon, like cheerful aprons with
roomy pockets. Wide-hipped, they linger
like chatting aunts. They would shuck corn
or snip peas off the back porch if they could.
I s l and Tr anspo r t
like cheerful aprons with
roomy pockets
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