Lawn Care
Sept 12 2008


The smell of fresh cut grass,
for the last time, this year.
Like a buzz-cut on the first day of school,
the lawn is closely cropped
— summer done,
eyes front,
shorn heads in obedient rows.

The snow shovel
on the hook where it hung all summer
tries catching my eye
— its metal blade flashing,
banging the wall
when the wind catches it.
And the rake, reproaching me
for neglecting the leaves last fall.

Each season is marked
by its own set of chores
— as expected as the end-of-semester-test,
cramming the night before.
The reassuring routines
of lawn care,
clearing snow,
keeping-up appearances.
This is steady work,
holding back nature.
Which will reclaim this place
eventually, of course;
after I’m gone
or our time is over.

But today, there’s the smell of fresh cut grass,
standing back
contented, spent
inhaling sweet deep breaths
— for now,
a job well done.
The autumn leaves will come
soon enough.