The grass has grown so thick and tall around
my suburban house, it’s been too long
I’ve let it go and now I mow in clumps.
It should be cut about each week to keep
it neat and tidy by the lawn care book,
but I, I hate the job so much I put
it off as long as possible and so
the grass and weeds have grown like fields of wheat.
A thresher’s what I need, I muse aloud.
The neighbor on one side cares even less
for mowing, trimming, clipping and the like;
he makes me feel less guilty than I might.
The neighbor on the other side cares more,
but he is quite forgiving of my sloth;
he laments his weeds and I reply,
at least they’re green, that’s all I care about.
Because we share a common line, I do
my best to mow within a day of him,
but now and then I fall too far behind.
So now my mower spews out clumps of grass
which must be raked up for the compost heap
and scraped out from beneath the mower’s deck.
I sometimes sit and contemplate the lawn,
about replacing it with Astroturf,
or green cement might do the job as well,
but neither option will be mine to choose.
Alas, the grass is mine no matter if
I like it or do not, it’s mine to mow.
And so behind the mower I do walk
and push for yardage which I do accrue,
though I am not as green as once I was,
my joints and limbs now stiffened up with age.
But now the lawn is short and that is that!
I’ve finally finished with the job at hand!
And one day I’ll have done the job for good,
and someone else will mow the lawn I lie
beneath, and they can let it grow too long,
for I won’t mind for resting under clumps
of grass or weeds…
or whether it is green.