Poem-A-Day: Day 175

Mow the Lawn, Asshole

The grass magnified to a million times
barks cold green shots of false resolve
callously into every direction that isn’t up.
The grass does this because it has to,
it senses the immediate danger of being large,
being something that it has never been.
The grass magnified is nothing more than blades
sharpening themselves in the wind
with some effort to not fall under their own waiting.
The grass does what it can in this situation,
a situation that seems ridiculously preposterous,
but happens naturally under years of neglect.
The grass magnified is not really magnified
because it simply was forgotten
by the omnipotence that promised it care.
The grass understands the soundtrack
whistling through the membership,
a membership of forgotten valor
that calls to the sky for something better,
something other than the false resolve
that manages the greenery of envious thoughts.