I have to admit
I like mowing the grass
I don't know if that makes me
plebian, suburban
or an enemy of nature
but I like leveling out
the yard until it looks
like you could putt on it
I love Whitman
but I can't imagine him
ever mowing grass
and I would probably follow
Thoreau off into the woods
but I'd want to come back
to my house eventually
and my quarter acre lot
hopefully after it'd gotten
a little shaggy
so I could rip the cord
of my Briggs & Stratton
and mow it all down
into unnatural geometric shapes:
trapezoids and rhombuses--
running over stumps
chucking out rocks
and bits of dead branch
and maybe even slicing up
a black snake,
watching it wiggle apart
in two directions--
and when it's done
sit on the porch and admire
and for a minute or two
stop feeling guilty
for being human



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