Tuesday, August 2, 2016


the Earth crawls just a bit closer 
to the Sun
every time I plop my butt down 
on the seat of this 
riding lawnmower 

the wind keels over dead, 
the moment it hears me fire up 
the string-trimmer

the mosquitos fall into attack formation
at the first, hollow rumblings 
of my Ford Econoline van,
rolling up to the front lines
to kill Mother Nature’s little soldiers

a battalion of green infantry 
offers up its unimpressive
“la resistance”
burs and choking dust

still, my tank lumbers on,
chopping through enemy lines,
unimpeded by the multitudes

I will grow no richer for all the 
chlorophyl blood that I have shed 
upon this acrid lawn

nor for all the crickets 
that I have widowed and 
made motherless,
mincing them up, under my
rolling blender

I have taken the fathers from 
their children, the children
from their fathers,
a thousand, tiny screams
never heard under the roar
of the whirling blades…

but such are a soldier’s woes

I tread on…

there is more death to do

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