Clogging and Unclogging

// Jim Daniels

My brothers and I gather beside the house
in the muddy grass beneath the gutters,
hands on hips like our forefathers.

Our father, 90, stands on dry cement
wanting no part of our ladder-climbing
prevention measures. It’s not that high,

he says, I’ll take my time. And if he sounds
a little like us as kids when we looked up
at him and pleaded, we’ll just keep our hands

firmly on our hips, as he did looking down
at us. Gutters clogged, rainwater overflowing.
He wants to yank out the gunk like he always has.

We’re discussing the merits of mesh guards,
gutter helmets, Leaf Defenders, Raptor Guards.
You can hold the ladder for me, he says.

Two of us live out of state, and the other
works seven days a week. Eyes are narrowed.
The oldest climbs up and starts mucking out

handfuls. They thud to the ground. The car
he should not be driving sits in the garage.
Why not just cut all the trees down, he says,

and be done with it. He knows we know
he doesn’t mean it. Not yet. We leave him
there, filling a black plastic garbage bag

with wet clumps. We lower the ladder
and drive off to the hardware store
where they’ll have everything.