Mowing on a Summer's Day

I don my oldest clothing -

- my favorite t-shirt
torn, covered in stains,
full of memories
of past Summer days
- outdated blue jeans
faded and thread-bare
holey, ripped, and frayed
from long years of wear
- too-small tennis shoes
once bright, white, and clean
now, grime stiffens cloth
shades of brown and green


I gather my equipment -

- old red push-mower
held together by
rusty baling wire
and plastic zip ties
- electric grinder
to hone mower’s blade
for even-cut grass
where my daughters play
- two-gallon gas can
filled with gasoline
to fill up the tank,
soak air filter clean


I’m ready to start mowing -

- pull the mower cord
turning the engine
but it doesn’t start
so I try again
- twice around the yard’s
perimeter, I mow;
the better to keep
weeds under control
- lines like straight arrows
back, forth, back again
sun shines hot on my back
my sole reprieve, the wind


I don my oldest clothing,
hair pulled back in pony tail
I gather my equipment
on a day that’s hot as Hell
I begin my mowing chore
with two trips around the yard
then back, forth, and back again
its not just boring, its hard.
I look back over my work
with ever critical eye,
find joy in a job well-done
and a bolster to my pride.