Retiree
Yes.
What you see from your window
is real.
I am,
in fact,
mowing the lawn.
I know full well
that my husband always does it.
But today he can’t.
So it’s all up to me.
I feel you watching me.
I see the curtains flutter
as you gaze in disbelief
and disapproval.
I know it drives you crazy
when I zig
instead of zag;
when I round the edge
instead of forming a crisp point;
when I start in the middle of the lawn
instead of at the outer edge.
I know your own lawn is your pride and joy,
and I know
my lawn
is rapidly becoming
the embarrassing black eye
of our street.
Let him cast the first stone,
I think bitterly,
as sweat trickles down my back
in thin streams
underneath my ratty t-shirt,
whose lawn is impeccably perfect.
But then I finish my yard
and shut off my lawnmower.
I look right,
and left,
and let my eyes linger
a minute
on everyone else’s yards.
And then I behold my own.
Damn it.
One thought on "Retiree"
Leave a Reply
You must be logged in to post a comment.
I celebrate this speaker, love the interior monologue