Mowing the Lawn
The summer grass is,
somehow
,still in abundance
in verdancy as
stretches of foot-high
stalks blow in the wind
carelessly tossing
their rebellious hair
and flaunting their
slender limbs to taunt
the neighboring yards.
It is as ifthey stretch for miles
“OOOKlahoma, where
the wind comes sweeping
down the plains,” or rather
my backyard.
I know I should mow,
perhaps HOA will come knocking,
the weeds may launch an attack
or cat may lose herself,
a lion stalking prey,
but the view
from a house-cage,
artificially cool is made
so much wilder by overgrown
stretches that bend light
with a gust of wind and
darker when still.
“OOOKlahoma, the wavin’
wheat sure smells sweet
when the wind comes
right behind the rain,”
in this marvel of a spring.
My backyard is Oklahoma,
wild and untamed by man and nature
my overgrown grass
stretches yards in breezes,
not yet yellow
and wilting under summer,
but still green
under tornado wake rain.
My grass waves its foot
long arms goodbye to
the season and
greeting summer.
I may as well let it run
wild in the last few weeks
of freedom.
