Not a Cake-Walk

“It’s not a cake-walk,” she said,

“getting to the root of the problem.”

 

Digging bare-hands in the ground,

breaking open the hardened layer of dirt

 

similar to cement,

containing petrified things

 

and creepy-crawlers

 

all squiggling around

for attention

or escape.

 

It’s been so long;

some have starved to death,

 

some have transformed into

other things, other beings,

 

some long-forgotten

and forsaken,

 

some random treasures uncovered,

rediscovered.

 

Two observing doves mindlessly coo,

emotionally uninvolved.

 

Each person’s non-cake-walk

so personal, so precious,

so potent.

 

The hardened dirt swallows

it all

 

in the end.