I’m tired of being dependable,
Tired of carrying things to wherever, taking them back again, or filling, abandoned, with rain. Rain is just angels’ tears, you know. They say. I don’t know who they are.
The chickens are waiting. I don’t know who they’re waiting for.
There’s a lot of they now. Is there a we anymore? Can we depend on each other?
Look, I don’t know what you want from me. I’ve been the one who handled things for too long. You’ve let things go. All the things. There’s a pile of dirt behind the barn. Straw in the shelter. Goatshit.
Let the chickens handle it.
I’m only here to take you where you’re bound to go.
Textwall 
The POV of the wheelbarrow is interesting and I like what it does for the call to action this poem seems to be requesting. Like “Inanimate objects are the only things being productive and changing things here. DO SOMETHING!” Goatshit rattled me. I think that was intentional.