The sprinklers trace their perfect arcs
The sunlight polishes the sedans
A masterpiece of quiet
A still life with…potential
I deadhead the petunias Snip Snap
A tiny green execution
Their purple faces crowd the border
Begging for more more more water
I am the warden of the blooms
I measure the grace of the Japanese maple
I know the weight of this hose
The price of this green this endless thirsty green
Hmm-mm-mm the summer lawn…
Hmm-mm-mm it’s picture drawn…
A perfect sprawling emerald calm
A soft demanding quiet psalm
Hmm-mm-mm the summer lawn…
It grows so still it’s almost…gone
Susan is leaving Again
A suitcase by the Lexus A studied tragic face
I count Third time this year
A kind of seasonal performance art
I water the hydrangeas blue
A deeper more convincing blue
The children’s laughter from the park
Is a needlepoint of sound on the canvas of the afternoon
I could have a headache I could take a pill
I could close the window and will
The sound to shape itself into a different future
One with less…topiary Less symmetry
One where the dandelion that golden rebel
Is not a crime but a crown
Sometimes I pray for a hailstorm
For golf-ball-sized apologies from heaven
To pummel this perfection into a pulp of mud and relief
For a tree limb to fall with a catastrophic crack
Just missing the roof
Just giving us something real to fix
Instead of this…preservation
This taxidermy of a life posed just so
Hmm-mm-mm the summer lawn…
A sweet chloroform yawn
It smells of cut grass and compromise
And something else behind the eyes
Hmm-mm-mm the summer lawn…
It’s so alive it feels like dying on
My hands are clean My schedule clear
There is iced tea There is no fear
Only a low persistent hum
A cousin to the sound the fridge makes
It says: This is all there is
It says: You have won
It says: Now what Now what Now what
I watch a single ant carry a crumb
Ten times its size across a continent of flagstone
I do not help I do not hinder
I bear witness I the queen of the still throne
One match
That’s all it would take
Not to burn it down No that’s too gothic
Just a small brown perfect circle
A flaw in the jewel
A beginning
A way in
Or a way out
