Hoe Gone Bad

Garden hoe, you do not weep
for your companion rake, though
he lies broken, abused; seen
last as verb - to rake or not to rake.

That is not the question.
The question is:
Why are you so happy, hoe?

Your poker face fools not
this cunning landscape artist,
lawn detective, and part-time
florist. As much as my
gentle garden is beloved,
I adored that rake as much or more.
Hoe, your future is as certain
as that of gopher, worm, or dandelion.

My joy blooms with spring
each year when, in weeding out
the tool-shed, I seek and destroy
you and your evil, murdering kind
who come forth so insidiously
from winter’s barren silence.

Betrayer hoe, my tools will be
pure of heart and deed,
or they shall perish!