Gardening

by Robert (Bob) Moore © 2015 I hate the sound of mowers in the morning it means the neighbour’s going to cut his grass I know it won’t be long, before the same old song “when do you think that you’ll get off your ass” “The neighbours garden always look so lov’ly and ours looks like the hard way through the pass I do what I can, but you know that you’re the man so get off your ass and go and mow the grass.” I go out back, and stare down at the mower the mower sits and stares right back at me I pull on his rope, he coughs like it’s a joke then settles back, I tried, but its not to be I go inside and make myself a cuppa she comes out and said “my that was quick” the mower will not start, so I’ll just rest my heart then try again, and maybe hit it with a stick “You can get the clippers out, and clip the edges I see they have not been clipped for quite a while or maybe you could even do some weeding” she’s good, she says all this without a smile So I go out and get the garden clippers and test them on a blade of grass I see maybe they just need a little sharpening it could make the job much easier for me. I go into the shed and get the whetstone and settle down, the blade across my knee the mower stares, and I stare back then cut my hand and blood is all I see. I guess the garden needs to wait another day my wife is tending to my injury the cuts not very deep, but I think that I will keep this woman who is looking after me (I know it does not rhyme much at the end, but who cares, no gardening today)