Oh gardener of my neighbour

I see you bring

that foul machine

so full of teeth that scream and tear

that rip the leaves from turf and twig

what care have you

for living thing?

Attack! Attack the enemy

e'r growing

surging, round your rounds

beat back with blades

and shrieking tones

green armies

green

wrench from their thrones

the despots: bushes, trees and lawn

and so!

leave gaping holes and gashes

with your slashes

thus

and

thus!

 

You leave triumphant, as the scars

of sound ring out for miles to sing

your victory,

til next week.

 

-meanwhile beneath that droning roar

I hear the steady, sweet neat clip

of mother's garden shears

so soft

I mistake it first

for birdsong.