The Gardener

Written on 12/02 at 07:42 PM by Andy Posner 3 comments

Filed under: poetry

The Gardener

We have pitched a simple man against the
Thousand blades of grass.
Once a week the battle is waged;
Each green sword glints with dew.

But our man is well armed; we have given
Him motors, gasoline, blades faster
Than the wind, and so he goes trampling
because our yard needs taming.
He leaves the lawn strewn with
Green bodies--their scent reaches up
To my poet’s nose.

For the moment victory smells like sprinklers
And empty fields.
For the moment our house is in order.

Then the grass regroups, sends out reinforcements--
Now the mothers are lamenting for their children;
They are fighting for their existence, for their land,
And they will not be vanquished.

A week passes and the proud grass
Waves beneath its wind.
The grass has a human spirit that
Grows endlessly, sprouts from the soil,
And wonders why we bother to hire
Mercenaries to fight a battle
That can never have an end.

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