Gentlemen and Lady start your engines.
No one sings the anthem but
Green bluegrass flags the start.
Most track back and forth,
gnawing tops off the fescue,
relentlessly reducing the blades
that never quite make it to seed.
Some rebel and chop diagonally,
one mower etches his “X.”
The old hippy, who tried a crop circle,
got alienated for his artistry.
She, with the degree in design,
opts for the Fibonacchi spiral but,
the turn ratio on her Toro
sculpts only fractured fractals.
When the roaring machines are silenced
on Saturday afternoon, the tree-hugger
stands raking the victims of his
motorless, non-mulching, rotary mower,
with each scratch of the tines,
eco systems, the fall of lawns,
the rise of sustainability.