Pleasant Valley Sunday

Pleasant Valley Sunday

I live in suburban bee-hive hell
never more apparent than
on a day like today
first dry day after the Spring rains

i can hear twenty lawn mowers
edging machines and leaf blowers
hedge trimmers and weed whackers
all humming in grotesque harmony
as they pillage the vegetation
and choke the air with noise and smoke
and Home Depot earth ravishing herbicides
cubic acres of mulch and potting soil
guaranteed to grow a tomato that
will feed you through the tough suburban winter

the din grows
internal combustion locusts
devouring the countryside
it’s a pretty day so they start their Harley’s too
and leave them idling in their driveways
gross and belching but rumbling the bassline
with an occasional twist of the handle
to make the beast testify
like a troubadour elephant blasting

Oh, why am I not cutting the grass?
or yearning to burn some more gas?
jets paint the sky with vapor trails
there is the sweet sulpherous smell
of petroleum wafting with the spring blossoms.
it’s idyllic really. Everyone seems happy.

But why am i not cutting the grass?