untitled
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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