summer poetic asides

 

There’s Mowing and There’s Mowing

 

Growing up on a large acreage in PA,

and with Grandma’s equally large yard,

Dad had this thing about mowing—

not too early while it’s still wet,

not too late when everyone’s tired.

That left the hottest part in the afternoon.

 

And no need for a riding mower

since he had a wife and five girls to help.

So there we all were sweating it out

every summer pushing mowers

twice a week or more since it rained

a lot in Pennsylvania.

 

One advantage:

Now that I live in southwest Colorado,

in my little yard, sparsely watered,

mowing is a matter of zipping back and forth,

twice monthly, in the coolness of evening,

and that doesn’t seem so bad.