Lawn Care
Saturday nights our
former neighbor
Shed his skin in the
driveway
Stood astride the soft
shoe rasp
Four corners will make puckered
At the straining
gathers.
Knocked back on his
heels
In a wide open stance
Bubbled in ease
On a pinpoint of
coordinates
Planet curving away to
the poles
He’d clock the woozy
stitching
Of lazy off-speed pitches
In the latter innings of
a lopsided
late season game.
The days last rays
riling beads
Cascading from the
nozzle of the hose
Veining a tumbler of
vodka and ice
Scott’s Weed and Feed
in a Folgers can
Plunked down on the
filthy bandage of concrete
He practiced lawn care
Bound by an oath to do
no harm.
Words I still recite at
dusk
Slippers whispering on
the drive
Tugging at my blue
terry bathrobe
White stalks of my legs
stark
Against the deep green
of the front lawn.
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