I have a love/hate
relationship with
mowing the lawn.
It’s Spring and the lawn
must be mowed.
I mean, it doesn’t, really.
We could totally let the lawn
go to hell if we wanted.
There’s the rub. We do
not want the lawn to
go to hell. It looks good
when it’s been cut
and it’s so much easier
to find the dog shit.
I hate the noise
and how the mower
handle after awhile
starts to hurt my hands.
While not completely
unpleasant, as it is
undeniably and indelibly
associated with memories
of Spring and Summer,
I could do without
the smell of gasoline.
The noise and the smell
remind my middle aged brain
that I am essentially
making pollution in order
to achieve an aesthetic,
a completely unnecessary
and possibly harmful
approach to yard care.
And yet, long rows up
and down, mowing,
I enter a kind of trance;
following the lines in
the grass from the
last pass, watching my
slow, methodical progress
in the lawn, I imagine
I am raking sand,
breathing in and out,
repeating the meditative
mantra, my only concern,
let the mow go along,
let my eyes be safe
from blinding projectiles.
michael jarmer 
“It’s so much easier to find the dog shit”–I actually laughed out loud! This is great. And I’m with you bro–there is something absurd about causing pollution in order to achieve an esthetic…but the neighbors would take issue with you if you let it go to hell…and the dog might not want to go in the tall grass anymore, might instead traipse on over to the neighbors’ perfectly manicured lawns. Hmmmmm.