As a child of five or six,
I watched Mother push the mower
back and forth across the grass.
Afterward, I ran, rolled, drank in the scent.
We moved to a succession of houses,
each with its own lawn,
graduated to a power mower.
As a teenager, my younger brother mowed the lawn.
“You missed the corner here,
that section there,” Mother said.
In my adult years, I use a lawn care service.
Every corner and section is neat
with not a blade of grass out of place.
This poem appears in the 2013 issue of Serendipity Poets Journal.