The Gardener

 

Where Have all the Flowers Gone

 

The Depression

brought the end

to large estates on

the bay on Sands Point,

Long Island.

 

The wealthy retreated

to the New York City

pent-houses

 

leaving their gardeners, chauffeurs,

and house maids adrift.

 

 

Padraic Brennan

became a displaced gardener

employed by Lewis Coal

and Oil to:

wash trucks, change tires,

and fiddle with spark plugs.

 

Seldom seen without an oily

rag in his hand, his head under

a truck hood, or bent to the

ground wielding a huge 

truck tire

 

his passion was flowers.

 

He raised dahlias

in long flower beds

in his yard.

 

Pruned and watered and

cherished them.

 

Cross-bred them into unique

prize-winning hybrids.

 

And came yearly with a huge bouquet

for my mother, 

presented with great ceremony

to Mrs. John,

the missus of a small house

on a side street off the boulevard.

 

 

Mother, always the gracious lady 

would listen to long flower lectures

attentively, 

arrange the dahlias in a vase

saved for the occasion,

praise the flowers and thank

the gardener profusely.

 

The ritual plays in memory

as a life lesson.

Paddy deprived of his beloved

garden 

on a huge estate,

chose to pursue his joy

in a more minimalistic fashion.

 

No complaint about dirty trucks

and dreary days indoors.

 

He chose beauty.

 

He left the image 

of a kind gentle old

Irishman

keeping the poetry

in his soul alive

 

and a child’s appreciation

for the flowers

and the man.