The Lawnmower People

Make whirring sounds,
Cut each blade
To 1/2" of its life,

Move with pushing
Confidence, overlap
Each swath they take,

Never miss a stride
And never stop
Except for gasoline.

Sometimes they might
Water a lawn —
Just to confuse it.

But grass knows peace
Is only a time when
Blades are being sharpened.

Copyright © 2008 Edward Michael O'Durr Supranowicz All rights reserved
from The Main Street Rag
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission