Mowed Lawn

I love the smell of fresh mown lawn,
though it may be one
of the most depressing smells
we sense within the yard

The faint drops of fuel mix
with the perfume of freshly opened,
vibrant green cells, caught
upon the border of life
and death.

Where once green spires stretched
in individual glory, celebrating
uniqueness, now there remains the
uniformity of carpeting,
cut short by hard steel blade,
and left to languish.

The kids rake up handfuls
of the browning spires,
and chase each other ‘round
the yard, tossing the shreds
of natural confetti
in the air.

I put the mower away, and
inspect the task complete.
I walk through the clippings,
sending shorn blades
circling midair before my toes.

The kids spring forth from behind me.
Death and satisfaction
in the form of settling blades
cloak the mantle
of these arms.