That lawn mower is plowing away the morning Again - at a time for toast and coffee it is a siren, a carillon abrading the bird song and quiet with hit rocks and grumbling stuttering down the valley His wife died, this mower of a trimmed lawn Mornings must be mundane without her voice, “Coffee?” “Cereal?” honey? Instead he harvests daybreak into afternoon with thought-silencing noise, not unlike those hog boys who shatter Sundays with their bass growl and loud music groomed for Hearing Aides, which this neighbor already sports As he shuts down the machine and faces a lonely lunch and news at noon he wanders to the mailbox waiting for a word listening for her in his lengthy day.
Wanderings and Reflections