Family Cottage: The Lawn
As much as I admire Thoreau, a long, shaggy
lawn impedes the footsteps of my well-aged friends
and family, who would prefer a berber rug...
cornrows of cut wound blades.
A power mower to cut and chemistry to weed:
I come on as grim reaper as th'Apocalypse,
Destroyer minutiae worlds spreads death's carpet!
and burn some fossil fuel!
Sand beneath a thin soil stretched out like cosmetics
over a witchlike face unbotoxed with sinkholes,
and sunken like a grave over the septic tank...
what smiles of grass grow there?
Timothy grass was the original cat's tail,
named for the carnival corn dog seed bearing blade;
mixing with jot and tittle clover pinks and whites;
ancestors' kenoptaph.
Orchard grass is enamored of a deep, rich soil,
and will hold you to be a poor, lazy farmer
behind in his chores and given to ardent drink:
sessile and recumbent.
Cord grass protects the shore, untouched prairie splendor,
whispering ancient totem wisdom like before
Columbus came; O, Spartina! O, Spartina!
remember me! my name!
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