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Untitled
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"Shall I Compare Thee to a Backfill Pile?"
April 27, 2000
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by Elizabeth J. Himelfarb
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A computer key,
A hair elastic--
I've tried to be
Enthusiastic.
A light bulb shard,
A rusty nail,
A business card,
A dried out snail:
I dig and sift and measure,
I hunt and poke and peck--
Bring on the buried treasure
Before I wring my neck.
I'll pack it in,
I'll quit forever.
This has been
A lost endeavor.
But first I'll take one final dig
And then my trowel will rest
And I will find some other gig
That inspires a trifle more zest.
In goes the spade
And then I will stop.
As the sun starts to fade
I see something pop.
A sparkle, a glimmer,
A glitter, a shine,
A spangle, a shimmer--
It is mine, yes, all mine!
Could it be the golden calf?
A coin from places Greek?
The Holy Grail, or at least half
Of Agamemnon's cheek?
I brush away the dirt and dust
And what do you think I find?
A bottle top that's peppered with rust--
The gods are so unkind!
My backyard digging stint is dead--
I wish I had never begun.
When Mom sees her azalea bed
I'll be grounded 'til I have a son.
Tomorrow I'll be a fireman,
A bandit, or a scout.
There are easier ways to work on a tan--
Archaeology is out.
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© 2000 by the Archaeological Institute of America
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