TrueGreen ChemLawn

This is my take on upper middle class suberbia...

 

Where I live they paint the grass green.

Every autumn when the leaves are gone and the blades

are gray, I see them: armor-

style trucks with their pumps and hoses

spraying that sick chartreuse

onto unsuspecting lawns.

One by one the yards are turned

this flamboyant Kelly.

I drive too fast down River Valley blasting

death metal tossing

half smoked cigarettes onto these virid

smotherings as I rip

past a rig reading Mock Orange.

How can I rest? How can I rest

when there is still that color in the world?

Author's Note

Before you start sending me angry messages, I think the allusion to Louise Gluck's poem Mock Orange is rather obvious, so don't even THINK the P-word...