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.