Sunday, May 15, 2016

MOWING THE FIELDS OF THE REPUBLIC














I mow my lawn
from the outer edges
in concentric squares
shrinking green tufts
into a disappearing island

But no lawn is an island
why not start in the center
mowing out
past my boundaries
to the next door neighbor’s yard

I'll need to take time off from work
as I race up and down
suburban streets
connecting the neighbors' lawns
with the lawns of the Capital, Central Park
and town greens of New England.  
moving now at a stately pace
and across the Kentucky bluegrass
to please pampered thoroughbreds.

Rivers of lawn carry me
to great coliseums
and their 100 yards
precisely coifed
as thousands of seats look on
Is it any wonder artificial turf
was abandoned and returned to grass and earth?  
Where are the dreams in artificial turf?

My vast grid expands
to reprise summer lawns of memory
--front yards of modest Ohio towns
but also around gravestones of my grandparents,
and great grandparents
all the while watched
by a civil war soldier standing in granite pose. 

Octane fumes mixed with humid air
make me lose count of little league fields
I mow in diagonal textures
the kind you see on TV during the baseball highlights

I'm left mowing in the dark
one giant island
of rolling fields of the great republic
--from sea to shining sea.

1 comment:

  1. Perhaps compulsive, but not aimless. From sea to shining sea, your lawn mower rocks! Love the artificial turf talk!
    ~ Mary

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