I hear the grass growing,
inch by inch by inch,
it feels like I just cut it, yet it persists.
Chickens prance around the yard
giving the green carpet a cleaning –
slugs, aphids and earthworms bite the dust,
one by one, all small beings reduced to mush.
Chew, chew, chew, I’m smacking on my tasteless gum
drained of color and morning-after bedpost hard,
strengthening jawbones without talking, how absurd!
Lawn trimmings tickle my nose, and sneezing, I propel
the ancient spitball downward, smashing an innocent arthropod.
Flip-flop, flip-flop, flip-flop, walking in my sandals towards the deck,
I sit down to reflect on the incredible number of dog turds I evaded
until my last step, squish, crap, it figures I guess.
Cold lemonade sweats on the table, a sugar stand set up in the heart of fly country,
the dirty dozens drop in for a smack of my hand, pain served for my pleasure, I eye
my victims, splattered, upturned hairy raisins
and flick them into space for the beaks to embrace.
Uncomfortable, I wince as the sun jabs its searing rays into my skin:
its way of telling me to re-apply Banana Boat SPF 50 before I resemble
a cancer-stricken wild heathen.
Distracted while reading a used book from Goodwill, I examine the ever-industrious
ants climbing up the windowsill;
cliffhangers, hill-builders, chemical addicts to the core, their frenzied antics
embody a picnicker’s worst nightmare.
But they just march along, not really nosing into my novel, too busy tracking
pheromones from their frontrunner’s glands.
In a way, they make me aware of human behavior, indifferent to others, altruism
as a means to finalize an agenda, in-genuine, mechanical motions in response to
genuine earthly stimuli.
Standing up, I remove my sandals and exit the deck to go feel the grass grow
underfoot, taking time to perceive things as they are, unhindered in the moment.