Sorry to take up so much blog space today, but one last post–the poem of the day by my former teacher, John Bensko.
Mowing the Lawn
Saturday Morning,
lying on my couch, I think:
a boy like an angel will save me.
He comes up the hill on a ten-speed bike,
dragging his mower. He parks them
and comes up the walk to the door.
Looking through the peephole
I see the small, freckled face . . .
if it were that easy. If the boy,
the angel that he could be,
weren’t just like us, worrying
about the time, the wear and tear, the cost,
we could negotiate our dreams:
one lying on the couch;
the other following a new,
self-propelled mower
into an even greater machine.
A Honda? A Corvette? God knows . . .
Our ways part. From his bright,
perfect lawn my neighbor scowls
at the boy’s leavings, at the shaggy
threat of windblown seeds.
But we’re all just alike.
On the couch we lie secure
in the knowledge. We imagine
the well-manicured lawn
spreads in all directions.
