a simple thing complicated by thinking

–

–

scraggly grass is curiously clipped

uniformly by an unwieldy

and aggressive machine.

the scent of gasoline melds with that of tree pollen

and the internal fluids of innumerable

bifurcated herbaceous dicotyledons.

wending its way through that melange

is the aromatic certainty

of rain-clouds drawing near.

–

it is the first mass torture of spring.

–

i grin impishly at the dirt

between the green, severed blades.

do your work, soil

i say.

–

i laugh, walk away

and slay my evil minion

by throwing a dead, vulgar tarpaulin

over the top of the hulking beast.

–

i congratulate myself

for a job well done —

(a ridiculous job that offends

my neo-tribal philosophy,

but this ain’t grad school

and my philosophizing is sporadic

and incoherent at best)

–

so,

the trouble, i suppose,

is simply some vague fear

of incurring a fine from the city

for allowing grass to be grass.

–

the deeper reason, though,

for this botanical violence

is the bloom of happiness

i see upon her face

as i brush the dirt from my hands

and the first drops fall upon our skulls.

–

–

GJK

11MAY17

–

–

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